After the Meeting
by Calebski
Summary: Voldemort holds a full meeting during the first war to celebrate the marking of one of the 'faithful'. Follow the Death Eaters beyond the meeting for a glimpse behind the mask. Featuring; Snape, Bellatrix, Dolohov, Yaxley, Lucius as well as others.
1. Prologue: The Meeting

_A/N this fic is focused on Death Eaters and followers during the First Wizarding War, starting with a full meeting in front of The Dark Lord and exploring their individual stories. This chapter details the events of the meeting and all subsequent chapters will be told from a different point of view._

 _Advanced notice: There are no overarching pairings in this fic, though some romance etc. will pop up throughout. This is a darker fic than I have written before, these characters are not on a redemption arch there may be some scenes that readers will not enjoy._

 _Warnings: this story will have some potential triggers for readers, there are scenes of violence, abuse and torture as we move through the chapters._

 _My chapter list currently has sixteen Death Eaters in it, there are more in draft but that is the current list. I currently have no update schedule for this story and as such updates will be sporadic._

 _Huge, huge thanks to the wonderful_ _kreeblimsabs who is Alpha reading this fic!_

* * *

 **Prologue: The Meeting**

* * *

Excerpt from _Horcrux Hunting and The Fall of The Dark Lord_ **Professor H. J. Granger** [2003].

Tom Riddle a popular, singular, charismatic, strange, powerful, intimidating, smart, cute, mean, benevolent boy depending on who you asked had left Hogwarts in the early 1940s to begin his quest to confirm his immortality. This being the first step on the planned road to bring war within magical Britain and possibly beyond, had he been victorious at what is now referred to as _The Battle of Hogwarts_ [1998].

After a short trip to Albania, where he is believed to have collected a priceless item, and third Horcrux, he returned to Britain. Once established in London the young wizard turned down several roles in the Ministry of Magic to work at Borgin and Burkes, a small proprietor of dark magical oddities in Knockturn Alley [closing operations in 2000]. While a surprise to many it is now believed that he accepted the lowly position of store assistant as it not only gave the young Riddle the perfect opportunity to not only practise his already substantial skill with the Imperious Curse but it also acted as a covert meeting spot for the furthering of his cultivation of influential followers.

He had already begun his expert manipulation of his fellow young minds while at school and was using the unassuming shop assistant role to broaden his reach.

While employed there he came across Hephzibah Smith, both wealthy and elderly she was prime for Tom's manoeuvring and was said to have fallen for his beautiful smile and smooth charm. Riddle's initial intent was probably money; though it would appear at some point during their acquaintance she had the misfortune to show the burgeoning Dark Lord two of her most valued possessions; The Locket of Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.

Mrs Smith, it was believed at the time, was poisoned by her House Elf Hokey; though it was uncovered that memory had been implanted in the elf's mind on the creature's Death Bed.

Following the death of Hephzibah, Tom Riddle resigned from his shop role and disappeared, presumably with the two artefacts that were never recovered, taking his Horcrux count to five. Little concrete detail is known about the victims he used for his Horcrux creation, apart from his family all of those he killed for his purpose seem to hold little significance, or at least none that can be found at this time. It has been postulated that at this time it was already evident that human life meant very little to him.

It is an interesting facet of his psychopathy that already his relatively young age he placed more import on the objects he acquired to create his Horcruxes than the people he executed to complete his quest.

Riddle disappeared for a total ten years, not much reliable information is available from this time apart from the odd snippet of meetings with people of ill repute hinting at his investigations into the very darkest magic.

He then reappeared somewhat unexpectedly at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to request the role of Defence and Against the Dark Arts Professor (DADA), a request that was refused by then Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was said to believe at the time that Tom had no intention of taking a teaching post; it is now strongly assumed that this is when he deposited the Diadem of Ravenclaw back on Hogwarts grounds. Subsequent to his visit at the school the DADA position was seen as cursed, with incumbents only everlasting a year, that is until two full years after the war when the contract was given to William Weasley, a world renowned curse breaker for Gringotts who was able to dismantle the hex placed on the role, the position has been filled by Draco Malfoy for the last five years, following the completion of his parolee as ordered by The Wizengamot as part of the _Death Eater Trials_ [1998].

Turned away from the school Riddle spent the next fourteen years actively recruiting followers, more specifically targeting the individuals he wanted for what became known as his 'inner circle' a group of witches and wizards that he gave the grandiose title 'Death Eaters'.

Overtime the inner circle that was created comprised of a mix of individuals, some Riddle had known from his own school days and the sons and daughters of the sacred twenty eight.

Their motivations for joining the group are not totally clear, while _some_ have spoken of their life at this time since imprisonment at the end of the Second Wizarding War most either declined to divulge information or were not deemed mentally competent enough to provide worthwhile insight.

Some were believed of be supportive to the cause as the believed in its merits. Tom Riddle used the rallying call of blood status and preached domination of Muggles and Muggle-borns due to their _inferior_ blood. He had largely kept his own half-blood status a secret. Indeed even amongst those he had gone to school with this was not a well-known fact, whether he employed the use of memory charms in this regard is unknown.

Others simply wanted power, the increasingly democratic running of the Ministry and the reduction of power of the Wizengamot resulted in some of the 'old families' feeling shut out of the political process. Voldemort was seen to advocate himself to many as the solution to this problem.

It cannot be forgotten that some joined Riddle's cause through fear; he was already a mass murder at this time and was known to use the Unforgivables indiscriminately. There are many proven cases of pressure and threats being applies to certain people he wanted Riddle was a 'collector' of people. Some like Sirius Black, heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, were pursued endlessly to join this cause; others have claimed they were Imperioused into complying with his demands.

Many were first attracted to Riddle through his notable charm, he was found to have a way of getting people to do what he wanted, often being able to ascertain what a particular individually sought and promising it to them, whether that be wealth or fame, power or even in some cases just inclusion.

It is not known exactly when but at some juncture in the run up to of the First Wizarding War Tom Riddle fully transitioned into Lord Voldemort, shifting from charismatic leader to vicious ruler. A firm hierarchy was established and followers moved from disciples to soldiers, some harmed viciously for failures.

Voldemort is known to have greatly enhanced his abilities with Legilimency after leaving Hogwarts and according to accounts gathered from the early 1970s he used this to actively invade the minds of his Death Eaters, one would assume to check the validity of statements and loyalties. Though also, as can be observed through a more thorough examination of the memories of Severus Snape, a Death Eater from 1978 till his death in 1998 (more detail in Chapter Eleven, Severus Snape: A Man of Two Masters), it was sometimes used to inflict acute pain as punishment, or even in some cases to assassinate.

In 1970 the First Wizarding War began and Voldemort began his campaign of recruitment with creatures that up to that point had been largely overlooked, mainly giants and werewolves. The second achieved by striking a deal with dominant Alpha, Fenrir Greyback.

In response to open war Bartemius Crouch Senior, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) at the time, passed an edict allowing Aurors to use the Unforgivables on suspected Death Eaters without warning, those that were captured were often taken to Azkaban without trial or even questioning.

The cult of fear around Voldemort reached its peak in the late 70s when his name was no longer spoken in public, people referred to him as 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Though a taboo was not placed on the use of the title until the outbreak of the Second Wizarding War, were utterances would be used to capture rebels and those with questionable blood status. The memories of these events have resulted in the name still not being widely spoken today; it is assumed that it may take the passing of another generation for that to be achieved.

As the war escalated the self-styled Dark Lord dropped his recruitment standards to allow younger and younger followers to be marked. These marking _ceremonies_ were mostly competed in private though there is evidence to suggest that some were conducted in front of the full inner circle. People have suggested various reasons as to why this may have been the case.

Little concrete detail is known about these meetings, the Death Eaters operated largely as a secret society and largely outside of the law.

What is known of the Death Eaters themselves amasses even less. Many have now been reduced to nothing more than frightening stories people tell their children. Of their own thoughts and feelings during this time we will never be certain….

* * *

20:00 15th December 1977

Unknown Castle

Summoned to appear at the exact time of eight o'clock twenty or so wizards and witches entered through the gates of a dark castle. The entire area was nondescript and the stronghold itself was almost entirely invisible from a mile away, given the thick coverage of trees in the surrounding woodland.

Upon entering the seemingly semi derelict site the small crowd made their way into a sparsely furnished room, the entire vista was grey from the exposed pale limestone walls to the matt grey worn flagstone floors. The room was cold though candles glowed from brackets on the walls and from atop the minimal surfaces dotted around.

The room was the only one not totally abandoned on the floor, so the group assumed this was the place. Further inspection once their eyes adjusted revealed a large space that had the appearance of a disused ballroom, one that was crushed under the weight of ghosts from the past.

The _visitors_ huddled together for warmth in the back of the room, unsure of where they should go and determined not to make a mistake.

After standing for an indeterminable amount of time the anxiety level in the room was almost palpable, so much so that it was no surprise when more than one person visibly flinched at the delicate clacking of shoes that could suddenly be heard in the distance, the massed cast strained their eyes to see in the relative darkness until a figure appeared.

Lord Voldemort or The Dark Lord, as he wishes to be addressed now, moved into the centre of the room, his beautiful face regarding them with a snake like smile, his eyes shone with what seemed to be amusement, his posture was faultless he was elegant and sharp, his finely tailored robes giving him an almost regal air. He did not address the _visitors_ but ran his eyes over each and every one, mentally cataloguing their faces.

Without warning he muttered an incantation and a tiny green skull appeared in front of him, illuminating the sharp angles of his face in a spectral green light the unnatural shape shot up into the crumbling rafters.

Seconds later a pop was heard, followed by a light thump as a Death Eater appeared in the room hitting the floor. The newly appeared man, at least they appeared to be male from their height, bowed lowly to The Lord and moved to a position on the outskirts of the room with a confidence that made it clear they were in no doubt of where to stand, the figure was wearing an ornate silver mask and dark hood that sat low completely obscuring their identity.

Over the next few minutes the room became alive with Death Eaters arriving, paying their respects and arranging themselves into a semi-circle around where The Dark Lord was standing.

Apart from the noises of apparition and feet hitting the flagstone floor no other sound was made. Once the circles gaps were filled The Dark Lord stepped forward. If it were possible the room got even quieter as if there was a collective holding of breath.

"Greetings the faithful… and not to forget those that aspire to be that way" he began in a tone that was warm and buttery but could no doubt cut glass, somehow it was part caress part slap, it was instantly enthralling and terrifying. His voice that let you know how much danger you were in but prevented you from looking away, he waved a dexterous hand leisurely indicating those at the back of the room.

"We have a _treat_ in store for you tonight, our brother Avery has a great honour to be bestowed upon him, his oldest son... a credit to the nobility of his ancient house, is following in his father's footsteps to join our ranks" He turned to face one of the figures in the semi-circle "Avery"

The Death Eater he indicated stepped forward nodding once at The Lord before moving to the back of the room, placing his hand on the shoulder of a young boy around eighteen years of age. He steered him into the circle through the lines of intimidatingly robbed figures and stopped in front of Voldemort before lowering his hood and removing his mask.

The man appeared to be in his early fifties, his face showed less emotion than could have been read from the reflective silver that had adorned it before. His son appeared to be doing a poorer job of concealing his feelings, he was pale and twitchy. Avery Snr stepped forward to kiss his Lord's ring before stepping backwards into his place in the circle and reaffixing his mask and hood.

Avery Jr dropped to his knees before The Lord and bowed his head. The Dark Lord eyed him almost hungrily his tongue sweeping from his mouth. As he moistened his lips he stepped around the boy, circling him once before drawing his wand. One short series of complicated movements and a sleeve of Avery Jnr's robe disappeared. Voldemort advanced forward, placing the very tip of his wand firmly into Avery Jnr's forearm and began a muttered incantation that seemed to be comprised of a sequence of hisses.

All was quiet the proverbial pin could have dropped in the room and the noise of its impact would have been as loud as a siren.

Then the screaming began.

There was no build up; there was no string of gentle gasps, clutched breath and broken resolve before he gave in to pain. It was an instantaneous blood curdling wail.

The sound continued for around thirty minutes, not a sole in the room so much as flinched at either the sound or the increasingly erratic flailing limbs of the young pureblood scion.

Eventually it was over. The Lord slowly raised his wand from Avery's forearm and stepped back. His face was impassive as he regarded the pale sweaty mess on the floor "Rise Avery"

Ungainly and clearly in an incredible amount of pain the boy got up "Thank you my Lord" he mumbled wiping the blood from his lips with the grace he had been born too before he leant forward to kiss the ring that had been proffered to him.

"Your dedication will be rewarded… join your brothers"

Avery huffed in a breath and dragged himself into position next to his father.

The rest of the meeting passed in a daze, nothing to compare to the dramatics of the first half. Various people around the room gave reports; some found favour some did not. Finally a mission for the evening was dispatched to Dolohov and Yaxley and then the assembled were given the command to leave.

As they began to file out to the castle doors The Lord's voice was heard once more "Rowle?" A large, heavy set blond turned from amongst the crowd at the back immediately and bowed "be sure to see me in the next two weeks for your own mark"

"Yes my Lord" the boy spoke bowing again before continuing out of the door his face waxy.

With the final request made the cloaked figures and their faithful counterparts disappeared into the night.


	2. The Witch's Tale (Bella's Story)

_A/N thank you to everyone that has read so far, hopefully this chapter will give you a better idea of where this story is going._

 _Big hugs to my amazing alpha reader Kreeblimsabs_

 _Fancasts: Bellatrix Lestrange - Eva Green / Tom Riddle - Tom Hughes/_ Rodolophus _Lestrange - Nikolaj Coster-Waldau_

* * *

Chapter 1: The Witch's Tale (Bella's Story)

Unknown Castle

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrange observed impassively from the side-lines, a cruel smirk widening across her face as the young Thorfinn Rowle paled at their Lord's request, she suppressed an outright laugh at his visible display of fear and folded herself into the darkness afforded by the edge of the dusty grey room.

She casually regarded the rest of the potential _recruits_ with dim interest; all the usual suspects were there of course, there was only one remarkable face in the whole crowd. Her cousin Regulus Black moved beautifully while stepping around those who were inferior to him, her eyes darted to the contrasting bounce of the boy next to him. Barty Crouch Jr was a menace, if it wasn't for his Father's position within The Ministry no one here would want anything to do with him.

A patch of dirty blond hair caught her eye and she turned her head idly to view the commanding frame of her husband, Rodolphus moved to the exit and she fought the sneer from her face, her mother's voice shrill in her mind as it reminded her to keep her distaste guarded. But how she _loathed_ him. Most of it wasn't even his fault, she never wanted to get married in the first place, by the time her _blessed day_ had arrived she already had three masters; her father, Cygnus, her house; The Ancient and Noble House of Black and her Lord; Tom Riddle, she had no need of any other.

It was made abundantly clear however that she did not have a choice, and as all of her masters agreed on the action she went ahead, dutifully if a little obstinately.

She sighed in relief as the door finally closed on the last of the assorted minions and she detached herself from the wall. Bellatrix took a moment to remove her mask and the overlarge black coat before exiting the room herself, standing for a second in the dusty corridor before waving her arm in a precise movement. Nothing happened for several seconds but then a glowing orb appeared, the sphere was only about the size of her clenched fist but glowed with a dark emerald sheen, undulating slightly in the cold air. She smiled to herself as she stepped towards it the orb moved down the corridor and she dutifully followed.

On reaching the second floor she passed a stained gilded mirror hanging unevenly, she paused to regard herself in the mottled glass reflection appraising her appearance before reaching back to pull out her hair fastener and letting the dark waves cascade around her pale face and down her spine. Stepping forward as close as she could to the dim impression offered she palmed her wand and pointed it towards her lips reapplying the charm to perfect the dark crimson staining. She smiled at the effect the pop of colour had, brightening her otherwise monochrome appearance.

Finally satisfied she sent a small wave of magic to reanimate the orb and continued following it down the upper floor corridor using its glow to avoid potentially hazardous debris that was scattered over the floor. Eventually the ball stopped in front of a closed door and Bella banished it squaring her shoulders and laying a hand on the knob, twisting and pushing it open before she could change her mind.

She slinked into the room beyond, carefully undulating her hips to move the glistening black silk of her robes around her feet like water in the way that would, had, brought many a many to his knees. She saw him, standing in the corner of the room that was probably once a grand study, someone had made some effort to attempt to clear the space, probably one of the idiots he had lining up _desperate_ to be branded, though nothing could wipe away the smell of decay from the room. She wondered if he noticed it, would he notice anything as plebeian as furniture rot. Or was the atmosphere of unavoidable decay somehow part of its appeal?

She had been trained since birth to take apart men what drove them, what pushed them, what broke them, she especially liked the breaking. Her father, once it was clear he would have no son, had sought to teach Bella what he could of the ways of a pureblood scion, there were certain things that were done in those circles but Black's had rules above those. Black's were cruel, passionate, calculating, vengeful and above all superior. She had never been stumped before, not until she met _him_ , not since, he remained the solitary enigma of her life.

He must have been aware of her entry, he was aware of everything, but he continued on as if he had not been disturbed removing his outer robe and moving to a rustic sideboard to decant himself a drink.

He was so beautiful he was barely human, skin as pale as milk and raven black hair that fell onto his face in soft waves, his mouth beautifully sculpted the only soft lines on this otherwise sharp angled face. Her eyes fell to his cheekbones; they were so sharp they looked like they would cut her flesh if she gave into the desire to rub her face against his.

His magic, dark, sticky and compelling oozed from his pores, when she had first met him she could only feel it when she had gotten close now it permeated the room, permeated every room he was ever in. She wondered whether he had been controlling himself back then or whether he had advanced so much in the last few years there had been a shift in his aura.

She raised her face to his eyes, saving them for last like the favoured part of a delicious meal. They were sinister and stormy just like the rest of him, they were the key to his whole demeanour, and through his shutters you could see the sin within, the potential for cold, murderous fury. The knowledge that _this wizard_ , this perfectly sculpted specimen was holding on to all that power, that it virtually shimmered under the surface of his skin, it was positively erotic.

Bellatrix stepped backwards towards the door closing it behind her, resting her frame against it elegantly waiting him out. Time passed until he dropped into what was once probably a fairly opulent chair with a drawn out sigh.

"What are you doing here Bella?" he asked with a hint of exasperation colouring his clipped tones.

"I wanted to talk to you… _my Lord_ " she allowed the words to drop from her lips, their timber caressing like a purr, anyone else would be putty in her hands by now, _these are the skills I learnt at my mother's knee_.

"So talk" he kept his words to a minimum like was punishing her, she loved to hear him speak, she resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

"You did not give me a mission this evening" she asked, getting to the heart of her displeasure.

"I did not" he answered disinterestedly, focusing on a seemingly imaginary piece of lint on his immaculate robes.

"Why not?" she knew she was in dangerous waters questioning him but she could not help it, he broke through her armour, all of her carefully constructed defences, why would he not react to her "I am your most _faithful_ …"

"You were not best suited" he interjected, his voice had risen slightly and its tone had dropped to just below freezing. His rebuke had the desired effect halting her passionate retort in her mouth, the protests died on her tongue.

She hung her head slightly, purposefully, she needed to show a sign of submission a display of contrition that she was a tame pet "Yes my Lord" she spoke more neutrally now, it was time to go. She straightened and moved towards the door ready to escape this decrepit pile, she had just reached the threshold when he called to her.

"Oh and Bella" she twisted her head to regard him over her shoulder "I _very_ much enjoyed your dress this evening" he smirked at her.

"Thank you my Lord" she whispered and left the room.

* * *

Once she had reached the outside of the property she reaffixed her heavy outer robe and marched into the woodland, she needed to calm herself before she apparated.

 _You love him_ her brain taunted, she shuttered away the thought it would do her no good. _You can't close us out forever_ it whispered again, she knew on some level that that was probably right. She wanted to hurt someone, anyone something to sweep away her failed seduction attempt being denied was not an experience she had often and she hated it.

 _Crush, smash, choke, strike… kill_.

She gripped her fingers before palming her wand and dispaperating, when she opened her eyes she sighed as she began the walk up to the doors to Lestrange Manor, she hated it here. She missed her own house and her father and her own rooms.

Cygnus Black was a hard man but he had always been most pleased with his eldest daughter, where other fathers would have baulked at her personality he relished in her cool ruthlessness, she would never temper herself her icy heart was a her strength. Andromeda was the warm one, beautiful and smart and little Narcissa was perfect, the apple of her mother's eye. Bella was cunning the one that should have been a boy, should have been the heir to her noble house she worked hard to make sure her father never felt that loss.

When it came time for marriage her _impeccable_ mother had sighed "You will never be first pick Bella" she had instructed in the bored tone she used to deliver all her severest criticism, Bella had bristled "A husband wants someone malleable, temperate, well mannered.."

"I can give off the air of all of those things" she had snapped impatiently.

Her mother had raised a mocking eyebrow "You have the look of snake among mice when around men"

And then smart, pretty little Meda had run off and got knocked up by a mudblood, bringing a _creature_ into the world and polluting their bloodline, the game had changed then, it wasn't enough to be who she was anymore she would have to bow and scrape to get a husband willing to take her now, it was beneath her dignity.

Then she had met _him,_ Tom Riddle as he was then, he had walked into her life and taken up his role as her own personal sun, she supposed it should really be moon. He had been captivating back then and she had been mesmerized by his alluring symmetry a beautiful warning like an animal with a vibrant plumage that cautioned you to stay away.

He was not for marriage, he had said and the heart that she had told everyone never existed had shattered.

Lucius Malfoy had made his intention to carry away Narcissa known and then she was the only one with no interest, no offers. Her father had made the decision to make a contract with the House of Lestrange and she had sighed unhappily, Dolph was not to her personal aesthetic not that she got the impression he was any happier about the situation. If she would have had a choice, which of course she did not, she would have chosen Rabastan. The younger Lestrange brother was darker more volatile than his temperate older brother, she could have made him into something if they'd married but it was not to be.

Thoughts turning to her reluctant husband she walked up the stairs towards his bedchamber, he always retired after meetings, things had the habit of getting a little messy for Dolph's _delicate sensibilities_. If she couldn't get what she wanted she would at least be able to ruin someone else's' evening.

* * *

She pushed into his chamber without ceremony and found him reclining on his bed, stripped of his outer robes, his shirt sleeves rolled back.

"Good evening Husband, are you quite recovered from you _arduous_ evening" she asked mockingly.

He glared at her "Go away Bella"

"No I don't think I will" she taunted pressing her back against the cold tile of the wall letting her mouth fall into a wide smile as she flung her robe into the room "Are you done crying Roddy? Is it all too much for you?" she sing songed.

"Shut up" he shouted rubbing his hands aggressively over his face.

Her heart rate sped as she watched his reserve crack, she may be bored by his very existence generally but she _loved_ to push him.

A few more taunts was all it took, he must really have been wound up already, before long he stomped over and pinned his arms on either side of her head breathing heavily against her face.

She fell into the familiar dance they had established by this point in their marriage and before long he was frantically pushing up the silk of her skirt as she released the fastening of his trousers, he pulled her roughly up the wall as he thrust into her. She found him almost attractive like this, when she had riled him up beyond reason, the belt buckle from his trousers still round his legs bit into her thigh.

"So pleased you remembered your spine enough to be able to perform Husband mine"

He covered her mouth with his hand " _I hate you_ " he spat venomously

She laughed and bit savagely into his palm and then threw her head back to shriek with mirth as he jerked his hand away from her.

" _You bitch_ " he growled.

His tempo increased and she snickered at his fury, this one she could control this one she could affect, he _hated_ her and yet she could almost crawl under his skin and operate him like a doll.

She watched as her husband's face pinched as he neared his completion and squeezed herself round him till his eyes crossed and he released an involuntary moan.

She licked his blood from her lips languidly, this one I will burn through and leave nothing but a shell. She pressed a kiss to his forehead leaving a delightful smudge of crimson and claret.

She would have to try for a more durable mate again at the next meeting.

* * *

 _A/N see my tumblr Calebski for chapter headers for these updated._


	3. The Eager Boy's Tale (Barty's Story)

_A/N Another chapter for this one and this time its Barty Crouch Jr in the spotlight, though Barty is not one of the more popular Death Eaters in fanfiction there is a fantastic story by Heeley called Freedom that you should all check out._

 _Fancasts: Barty Crouch Jr - Iwan Rheon / Severus Snape - Louis Garrel / Regulus Black - Eoin Macken_

* * *

Chapter 2: The Eager Boy's Tale (Barty's Story)

The Hogs Head

* * *

Barty pushed open the door to the dirty pub bouncing on the balls of his feet, he could barely contain his excitement, it threatened to force its way out of his body.

He was aware of Severus and Regulus' distaste for the behaviour but he couldn't stop himself he was far too elated. He pushed through the crowds ignoring the disgruntled faces at the rough treatment before falling into a chair at the back of the room.

"Can you believe it? We were invited to a full meeting… us... I can't believe it"

Severus eyes rolled his eyes and Regulus announced his intention to go to the bar immediately.

Barty beamed "mines a fire whiskey" he called after him, Reg turned "yours is a butterbeer" he yelled back and disappeared towards the front of the bar.

The bar was unusually busy Barty supposed it was down to the time of year, Christmas always seemed to bring out the alcoholic in most people, he could empathise. Not that there was any chance of him getting any booze at home.

He waxed lyrical as long as Severus would allow about the tremendous honour it had been to attend, Snape looked almost bored as Barty enthusiastically replayed the evening, though that was not an unfamiliar expression on his friends face. He had known Severus since the day he started at Hogwarts, the dark haired boy was in the year above and had been assigned to help him settle into Slytherin House, what this really transpired to be was six years of Barty asking every question he could think of while Severus exercised thin patience, his current record was to have the dour wizard hexing him inside thirty seconds. As infuriated as he no doubt found him Snape never left him, that wasn't the type of wizard Severus was, once you had his friendship, like he had somehow managed, you had it for life.

Barty was not the _typical_ Slytherin, people assumed they were all one way, all one type of person, people expected him to be subtle in his opinions and calm in his demeanor. That was how others in his house were, all tranquility and control on the surface, they let their malice run unchecked underneath their cool facades. It wasn't that he couldn't suppress his feelings, he was the master of repressing emotion, rather he did it _so often_ at home that by the time he got to school he would be so full of pent up emotions, thoughts, opinions, _personality_ that it would have been as futile as trying to stop the tide to hold them all in.

He had only been on Christmas break for three days and already he could barely control the words spewing from his mouth.

"I can't wait for it to be my turn; I can't believe I'm going to have to wait at least another year" he sighed. He was _desperate_ to get marked, nothing he had seen tonight would dissuade him, he could cope with a little pain, he was sure he would put up a braver effort Evander Avery. Avery would be someone his Father would have called 'soft', the boy was all velvet lined robes and imported tea. Yes… he would keep silent at least, he was sure of that.

Severus didn't reply but Barty could have sworn he looked a little forlorn, maybe he would have preferred to wait until they were all graduated and been inducted together?

His mind wandered his head turning unconsciously towards the bar, he could make out Reg's head, angled as he bent over to be heard giving his order in the packed pub. Barty's eyes traveled down his long, thick hair over his broad shoulder to his lean hips past his belt and studied the snuggly fitting formal trousers that left little to the imagination.

Not for the first time he lost himself in imagining walking up behind his _friend_ running his hands over his firm torso before resting them on his slim hips, kissing his shoulder blades. Regulus turned abruptly drinks in hand and it was enough to shake him from his errant thoughts.

He wondered what his Father would think. Which would he be most disgusted by; aspiring Death Eater, gay wizard or in love with a boy from the Ancient and Noble House of Black? Any one of those would be enough to ensure invoking his temper would all three be enough to kill him? It would be such a shame for him to go with something as bloodless as a heart attack. Even if the news didn't kill him making his _leanings_ public would be enough to end his father's political aspirations, which would be the same as sticking a blade in his heart, the prospect of one day being Minister for Magic was all the man lived for.

Regulus made it back to the table, moving through the assorted people with a lot more grace than Barty had managed earlier, part of that he supposed was down to the way that people just seemed to glide out of his way but he couldn't hold that against him, he was guilty of succumbing to the considerable charms at Regulus' disposal on an almost daily basis.

They had started school together, sat next to each other when the hat had pronounced them Slytherin at the Sorting Feast and had remained friends ever since. Reg was everything that Barty wasn't; controlled, poised, beautiful, beloved by his family, his parents were even _encouraging_ his association with the Dark Lord, Barty would have hated him if he didn't love him quite so much.

He had tried it on once, in fourth year, they had been _experimenting_ with firewhiskey, most of the boys by that point had partaken before but just as a tipple, that night they consumed it in vast quantities and when they had stumbled up to the dorm room together they had tripped over a broom, that evidentially hadn't made its way into the closet and they both fell onto the nearest bed, he landed ungainly, directly on top of Regulus, when the drink induced hysterical laughter had died down their eyes had locked and moved by a magic he could not control he had dropped his head to press his lips softly against the other boys skin.

Regulus had stiffened immediately though not in the way Barty had, and had clasped his hands on Barty's shoulders pushing him away. Barty had paled immediately, awareness of what he had done dripping into his muddled consciousness he instantly began fearing mocking or worse the famous Black temper, he feared losing a friend because he didn't like girls. But none of that happened Regulus sat up and told him that he was sorry, that he didn't care for him _like that_ , he asked him if he understood and Barty had nodded his head, lying about understanding. He didn't really, it wasn't that he thought Regulus loved him back but if he had given him a chance he would have worshipped him.

But he didn't say any of that, he smiled and pushed down his pain into the little box he kept in the pit of his stomach, he pushed back his words into the swamp like pit he had developed and nurtured in the back of his mind. Both were getting rather full lately.

He drank with his friends for a while relieving some of the tension inside his body until he glanced up to see the clock above the mantel read 10.30, reluctantly he bid good-bye and headed towards the door.

* * *

He stepped into the Crouch Town House and immediately felt like the air itself was suffocating him, eating at his skin, prickling at his brain. He shut his eyes to collect himself for a moment before trudging reluctantly into the main reception room at the back of the house.

If you had asked him before he entered the room what he would have expected to see he could have drawn it from memory; his father was sat in a high backed chair pouring over The Evening Prophet making a variety of noises as he consumed that day's news. His mother was sat, or rather perched on the end of a rather elaborate sofa that he had never found any comfort in what so ever, working on a needlepoint awkwardly, stitching while ensuring she didn't arch her back.

As he moved into the room her gaze fell on him and her eyes lit up, her face moving into an easy smile "Barty! Your home" she enthused, her voice filled with warmth.

"Indoor voice Delphine" his father snapped and she fell silent, still smiling but her eyes had taken on a distinct tightness around her soft sapphire orbs.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked, her voice less warm more distantly polite than before. It was all show, this contrition, she would wait until his father went to work tomorrow and she would bake sugar cookies, they would eat them in the kitchen and he would tell her all about drinks with his friends, not about his appointment earlier in the evening but everything else.

"I…" he began.

"Yes, Son, did you have a _good time_ off gallivanting with the Black heir and the weird one... Snape…" his father griped maliciously.

Barty turned on his heel "why yes father I did, you're so kind to ask" he couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice he didn't even try, he wouldn't have felt sorry for it if it wasn't for his mother. From the corner of his eye he could see her gaze fall of the floor, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

Barty Crouch Sr jumped to his feet, the paper that he had been diligently holding, neatly to ensure it did not crease, was thrown to the floor as he marched towards him. He was a non-descript looking man, Barty imagined you could spend an entire dinner party sitting opposite him and be hard pushed to remember his face the next day. How he wished that forgetfulness for himself. The image of his father was etched into his mind by this time, and the picture he had was not the image they put in the prophet; _the fearsome but just head of the DMLE,_ the man that was _the safe bet_ to be the next Minister. No, the image he had was the likeness of him now, standing a step away from him. Barty was in his sixth year of Hogwarts now and he stood just taller than his father but the image in his mind was of a taller man, looking down, passing judgement, finding fault.

"You will show me some _respect_ in my house _boy_ do you understand?" he shouted in his face, Barty held onto the threads of himself that were threatening to release and stared back impassively at the reddening face inches from his _do you understand_ he thought preemptively "I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND… repeat it back to me" his Father shouted.

"Do you understand…" he repeated softly and he watched the flash in his father's eyes, the flash where he knew he'd lost it.

His father pushed him roughly towards the door "get to your room, I'll deal with you in the morning"

He moved slowly up the stairs his hands twitching, his neck flexing, his body desperate for a release for the pent up aggression. It wasn't over yet, he needed to get some time to centre himself.

Moving inside his room he changed into his pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed, upright straight backed and regarded the wall opposite dispassionately. He didn't have to wait long, he never did, only minutes after he sat down he heard the tell-tale muffled creak of the stair, he wondered, as he always did, what he told his mother when he made these visits, he would not consider the fact that his mother knew, she loved him too much. Plus, as resilient as he knew he was he was certain he would shatter if he found out she knew. So he said nothing, he just continued to stare at the wall. When he heard the sound of the third floorboard creak in the corridor he unconsciously squared his shoulders and jutted out his chin. Posture and presentation had been the first lessons, those had been absorbed and followed easily, respect and discipline, those ones where harder.

He didn't move a muscle as his door opened silently and Barty Crouch Sr walked into the room. His father turned to close the door and unfastened his belt, the sound of the leather thwacking open was his understood que, he stood from the bed removing his thin t-shirt and posed, arms elevated above his head linking his fingers around the bar that he knew would have already been conjured to suspend from the ceiling.

The first impact of leather against flesh made his eyes water, which was unusual he must have been pissed at him that evening the fourth knocked the air out of his chest. It became something of a game, how long could he last without making a sound, he lasted ten before an involuntary gasp was pulled from his throat.

As soon as the noise filled the air he felt the bar that was held in his death grip disappear and his arms slumped to his sides. He pushed his chin up holding his posture until he heard the soft close of his bedroom door and he sagged to the floor.

"Winky' he huffed out and pushed his sweat soaked fringe out of his face before the elf appeared. With a soft pop the tiny creature dropped into his room her eyes widened as she took in his position on the floor. Knowing by now he would be in no mood to talk she set to work repairing what she could of his lacerated skin before covering his back in potions and bandaging it up.

When she was finished she stood in front of him shuffling nervously "All done Master Barty"

"Good, you can go now Winky"

She tilted her head at him staring into his eyes but nodded and moved to the door before calling over her shoulder "Master Barty should try to not upset the Master sir" she whispered before leaving.

* * *

Later when he was lying in bed, on his front, succumbing to the all too familiar mild delirium brought on by the creams Winky had applied sinking into his bloodstream and mixing with his earlier alcohol consumption he replayed the events of the evening's meeting through his brain again.

He would take his mark and once he had won his Lord's favour he would seek permission to kill his father.

He wouldn't kill him with magic that's why he would need permission in advance, he doubted his Lord would be very happy at a muggle means of death without an explanation first. But he was sure he would get it, he had heard whispers about his Lord, whispers that he had killed his own father, a man he had never known, in cold blood. Hit him in the back with a spell.

That wouldn't work here, Barty needed to be able to see his father's eyes as he choked the life out of him, it was very important that he made absolutely sure that he _understood_.


	4. The Comrade's Tale (Antonin's Story)

_A/N Thank you for your feedback thus far on this story!_

 _Alpha love to Kreeblimsabs_

 _Fancasts: Antonin Dolohov - Michiel Huisman / Reuben Yaxley - Richard Armitage_

* * *

Chapter 3: The Comrade's Tale (Antonin's Story)

The Mission

* * *

Antonin's feet dropped down lighting on the crisp ground in front of a dimly lit house, he didn't even bother to look to his right he knew instinctively that Yaxley would have landed completely in sync with him.

They went about their preparations without speaking having discussed the best course of action before leaving the latest in a long line of gothic haunts his master had taken ownership of. Antonin set about charming the ground to make some provisions for the snow cover, it wouldn't do to leave footprints behind. The wind that rattled around them carried a distinctive chill but it bothered neither wizard. Antonin was not native to these shores and he had never lost the hardiness he had been born to, five winters in Sochi had a way of making every other weather condition seem like a mere trifle.

He raised his arm instinctively as Reuben moved to pass him the parchment they had worked on earlier, their informant had been most useful providing details of the security measures around the detached house, their mission would be made infinitely more simple because of this irregular level of detail. The two young wizards moved as if they were an extension of each other, they were always paired together for this reason, they could act without second guessing the other, each was fully versed in the other's skill and knew where they overlapped and were one or other had to take the lead.

He first met the seemingly reticent northern wizard as boys at Hogwarts, they had attended the same year and had both been in Slytherin house, Antonin had been a reserved child that became a quiet often taciturn man. That was not to say he was emotionless, he had just always been taught not to express his innermost thoughts unless amongst intimate acquaintances of which he had _very_ few.

Antonin had not socialised much with other children, his family had moved here in 60s, London had been emerging as the place to be for the best work opportunities and his father had jumped at the chance to start somewhere fresh. Alexei Dolohov had wanted to get to of the shadow of his father, desperate to make his own way in the world after starting his family with his beloved wife, though when they had arrived they were soon to find that society was not as welcoming as they might have hoped.

In Russia they had moved in the first circles, a combination of good name, good money, the right views and the right level of purity. On the surface all the same things were important here and in theory the small family ticked all the boxes but they lacked the polished veneer that was necessary for elevation into the elite here.

The Dolohov's weren't particularly _flowery_ , or at least not enough to fit in at the requisite society parties and balls. His father had begrudged all of the pretense, he was a gruff man accustomed to speaking little and plainly when he did, his opinion had been 'if it was good enough for the ballrooms of Sochi it should be good enough for here'.

Alexei made no secret of his distaste at having to dance with at least a proportion of the women present at these soirees and was obviously furious any time he had to watch his wife be guided about the room by one of the 'pretty' men from England. But his mother had been determined, she believed it was best for Antonin if they made their way into society.

Antonin in appearance, was a physical manifestation of his parent's union, he had all of his father's imposing features; dark hair, dark eyes, height, but it was tempered by his mother's softness, his countenance found favour far more readily than his fathers did. As was the way of the world the pure-blood British witches and wizards forgave him for his stoic nature as it came in a nice package, not that they would admit they were doing that of course they would explain it away, say he had an _air of mystery_ , say he was a _deep thinker_ , by his own admission Antonin was neither, he was a fairly plain man, and he had never had a day's introspection in his life.

All in all by the time he made it to Hogwarts he was fairly lonely, something he learned was common among his ilk. He had no siblings and his parents seemingly had no desire to have anymore children, and then he had met Reuben.

Yaxley's family had come from the North of England originally having moved to London after a tragedy in the family led to them want to be away from their former home just before Reuben was eleven.

In Reuben Antonin found his match in everything from academic dedication and prowess to opinions and temperament. They were even of a similar height, dwarfing most of the other boys in their year both standing well over six feet.

They shared everything, and so it was no surprise to anyone when they both became Death Eaters at the same time, both having taken the mark the year before. They had already established their specialism and the Dark Lord wanted it put to use this evening.

Without further sound the wizards walked forward and began dismantling the relatively simple wards around the house, they knew they were successful when they registered a soft click, not dissimilar to the sound following a successful Alohomora. Slinking inside the property it was evident the wards had not been keyed into the blood of any of the occupants, as their destruction had alerted no one to their presence.

A wizarding wireless played lightly from a room further up the entrance hall, Antonin turned to face Reuben and the two exchanged a quick look and a series of pre-planned hand gestures before creeping up the corridor coming to a halt outside the door the gentle notes could be heard from.

Making the decision to affix their masks they opened the door with all of the causal grace of invited guests. The scene they walked in on was simple in its domesticity, Iris and Octavian Meadowes were standing in the middle of the carpeted area of the large reception room, held in each other's embrace smoothly swaying to the crooning voice coming from the wireless, the lights in the room were dimmed and shadows danced around the room being twisted into strange patterns as the ceiling architrave refracted the dying embers of the fire.

Everything for the next ten minutes followed what had been established in his mind as a familiar pattern, the sight of the masks and cloaks brought out a fight or flight response in their targets, everything could be predicted. At the sight of danger Octavian moved to shield his wife and immediately began battling Yaxley, while his friend was occupied he moved around to secure Mrs Meadowes.

He was uncharacteristically brought up short when she seemed to recover from her initial fear enough to send a violent stream of curses at him knocking him off his feet and forcing his mask back against his face, the rough contact causing blood to seep from his nose.

Groaning he struggled back onto his feet sending back dark curses interspersed by spells of his own design, it wasn't long before she was subdued.

Once both were secured Antonin removed his mask observing Yaxley's eyes crinkle with humour at his bloodied face, "You always underestimate the women Antonin" Reuben laughed taking off his own mask. Then the couple were really afraid, he could see it in their faces and he knew why; if they were happy to take off their masks that could only mean one thing.

The Dark Lord was convinced that Mr and Mrs Meadowes had information of members of The Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's _supposed_ secret organisation, though why they needed it was a mystery it would not have been too difficult to work out the list themselves, Gryffindors were never subtle.

He was sure his own inclusion within Death Eater ranks was something of a surprise, he hadn't been brought up with as staunch views on blood supremacy as some, his father who had schooled him in his beliefs as a young boy had more concerns with half-bloods than mudbloods. Though mudbloods were dirty their magic was not of their own choosing and most likely there would be some magical ancestor somewhere who accounted for the development of skill.

No, half-bloods were the real concern, or more accurately magicals that married muggles. Muggles were not safe, bringing them into their world could only result in wars, muggles were inferior to them in every way.

A sharp gasp brought him back to himself, Yaxley had taken his time in securing the ropes, surely he got enough practice with them during his extracurricular activities he thought with a smirk "ropes again Yax, really?"

His friend's face split into a wicked grin "fuck you" he laughed out, "I'm going to be late back to Ciara as it is, thought I could kill two birds with one stone and trial this while I was here, I can make up for lost time later then"

Eventually, bloody spattered and bone weary they exited the reception room, the wireless still playing in the darkness though there would be nobody to dance to it anymore.

* * *

Making use of The Meadowes home Antonin cleaned himself off quickly, his father was long from baulking at the sight of him returning home from a mission worse for wear but he wouldn't dare let his mother catch his matted wavy hair and mottled cloak.

Yaxley emerged from a bathroom down the hall just as he was removing what looked to be brain tissue from his shoes "I'm off" he sing songed.

Antonin sighed "Yes I am aware of your evening plans Yax… I'm aware, The Meadowes were aware, most of the inner circle were aware, probably the Dark Lord himself was aware"

"Oh cheer up you miserable bastard, you have only got yourself to blame I told you she had a sister..."

"Yes and I told you that story always ends with me trying to corral some deranged witch while you go home with a politely mannered but deliciously kinky relative"

"What can I say, I love you brother" he rested both his large hands on Antonin's shoulders "but I love me more" he grinned at him "and anyway" he called over his shoulder making to walk back down the stairs "Ellora was an enchanting witch, you could have done a lot worse"

"Oh I was having a _splendid time_ , before she tried to suck me off under the table in the restaurant"

Both wizards huffed out a laugh before exiting the way they came and disappearing into the night.

* * *

Antonin opened the door to his family home and held in a sigh as he saw the light was still on in the main room, he inched towards it, knowing better than to not present himself. He was startled for a moment when the faint notes of the wizarding wireless reached his ears, his step faltered for a second as he suppressed the memories of earlier that evening.

As he moved to the doorframe his mother must have heard him "Antonin is that you?"

"Yes mama" he replied instantly shaking loose the remembrance and striding into the room.

He kept quiet as she berated him for the hour he has 'deigned' to come home and the state he was in, his little clean up seemingly did not do enough to save him from her wroth. Only when he locked eyes with his father was he finally given reprieve and allowed to leave the room to go to his own.

Inquisition over for the evening Antonin climbed up the stairs to the very top of the house traipsing inside the bedroom that has been his since childhood. The room was of a good size with walls covered in the darkest blue paper, as he moved over to his desk he noticed a tumbler of firewhiskey that has been left there, he wasn't sure if the message was _well done_ or _sorry_ but he took the glass in hand either way.

Standing indecisively for several seconds he looked towards the window releasing snow had started to fall, making up his mind he opened the sash fastening on the frame pushing the mechanism that had grown stiff over the winter months and climbed onto the roof using a method he had perfected as a boy but found a lot easier now he was an adult.

He settled himself against an old chimney post and let his mind drink in the silence while his eyes took in the frozen rooftops, he had forgotten how peaceful it was way up here.

That he would become a Death Eater was never in question, he had been raised to be his own man but those beliefs his father had shared in his youth had become his own and in some ways he held them even more strongly than his parents generation.

He was no bleeding heart, he had known long before the rest did that this war would not be fought in courtrooms but on the battlefield, so to speak, you do not come from a country with a long history of oppression without understand the _force_ that was necessary to effect change.

He was still human though, or at least he was at this point, it affected him. Maybe not as much as some of the other recruits who would shake through missions and blub to themselves afterwards, he had a level of detachment to the task that the others found scary, an impression he encouraged.

He could confess at least to himself that he was beginning to enjoy elements of this new… career path. The Dark Lord valued his skills and encouraged his strategic mind, he was told that he was being groomed to be one of his most faithful. Antonin was fairly sure those pretty words were repeated to many of his _brothers_ , though he knew enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.

He took a long swig from the chilled glass, their Lord's plans were solid within a five years they would have total control of the British wizarding world and then this bloodier part would be over. He could take a wife and settle down into whatever role was deemed right for him. She would not be shunned in society as his parents were, he would have achieved enough by then for even Narcissa Malfoy to welcome whoever the lady would be into her home.

He just had to keep himself in check till then, he watched as the snow that had fallen onto his arm slowly melted leaving him coated in a slick cold that wasn't entirely unpleasant, that didn't seem too difficult.


	5. The Next in Lines Tale (Thorfinns Story)

_Fan casts: Thorfinn Rowle - Alexander Skarsgard / Evander Avery - Colin Morgan / Eoghan Avery - Lee Pace_

* * *

Chapter 4: The Next in Line's Tale (Thorfinn's Story)

The Bedside

* * *

Thorfinn felt dread sweep over him like a bucket of ice water when he heard The Dark Lord call for him to halt, not that he actually said those words, he hadn't even raised his voice, but the quiet articulation of his name had an undertone of command that no one present could have misinterpreted. Thorfinn hadn't been totally convinced that _he_ even knew his name up to this point and yet he wasn't sure now why he had ever doubted it, that wizard knew everything.

 _He would be next,_ it was what he had wanted of course it was, but he only needed to look at Avery to see that the price was higher than he had anticipated.

He might not be regarded as one of the more intelligent, within this circle, but he was bright enough to know when to keep his famously large mouth shut.

He followed the swell of people living the relic of a building like ants and moved to the side of the large entrance doors once he had made it to the outside. The cool evening air in his face calmed his nerves a little, he would need that to keep a brave face when the rest of them got out.

His hand fell to his forearm for just a moment and he was lost in imagining what might be when he felt a rough shove against his shoulder. He whipped around quickly to see the descending figure of Rabastan Lestrange. _Merlin, that kid was a total prick_ , he would never admit it but Thorfinn was pretty convinced that the youngest Lestrange was jealous of him. He shuffled his feet in an attempt to exercise away the desire to go after him and beat him into the ground. He would _love_ to wipe that smug grin off his face but for now he had more important things to focus on.

Several minutes passed after everyone else had gone and the outside of the property had fallen into total silence before he heard the sound of dragging feet, he collected himself, turning around to find Evander Avery walking out, leaning heavily into his father's side.

Thorfinn move on instinct to take his weight but Avery Snr, Eoghan, pulled back "No" he said firmly "he has to walk to the apparition point, as soon as we get him back to the Manor safely we can carry him upstairs"

Rowle looked at him quizzically, surely this was no time for his ridiculous aristocratic sense of behaviour, Eoghan seeing his expression sighed "who knows who could be watching" he threw out, "some of the others may have stayed behind to see how he _faired_ and even now the Dark Lord is still in the castle, if he believes Evander did not take the mark as well as he should have the consequences could be dire"

Thorfinn nodded and moved to the other side of Evander, gently applying pressure to his back to aid his walking in a way that could not be viewed as 'actively helping'.

The two-minute walk took far longer than it should have thanks to their strange walking arrangement but they at least managed the considerable feat of apparating to Avery Manor before Evander was promptly sick on himself and collapsed.

At this point Eoghan did not protest when Thorfinn bent to the floor to pick the man's son up and haul him over his shoulder. Thorfinn had believed he was somewhat prepared for the night's events, Avery's father had pulled him aside a week before and spoken to him in low tones about the after effects of the marking, he had charged him with getting Evander into his rooms while Eoghan distracted his wife. Thorfinn would have done it in a heartbeat, but even if Evander hadn't been his best friend he would have agreed hastily, you didn't say no to men like Avery Snr.

Evander was the apple of Mrs Avery's eye and it didn't take much to realise he was almost her soul reason for living, he had seen enough of his friend's parents behind closed doors to know that theirs was a loveless marriage. Thorfinn could only imagine what commotion it would cause if she got a mere sight of her precious boy as he was just now, faintly green, sweating profusely and passed out.

He navigated the familiar corridors and cut through rooms of the Manor with ease, with his long legs and determined stride he made it to Avery Jnr's room swiftly and without detection.

Setting him on the bed he did his best to remove his outer robes and his boots, having a bit more alcohol tolerance due to his size meant this wasn't the first time he had to do this to a friend, not that Evander would ever have been caught drunk and unaware but still.

Finally he collapsed in a chair by the side of the bed and looked over at his friend's prone form, he had no idea what else he was supposed to do in this situation and was fearful of doing anything that might make it worse.

He would never have thought he would be friends with Avery, they weren't even in the same year or house, not that it mattered but people's closest friend usually were housemates just as you spent so much time together. He suspected it didn't matter as much with him being Gryffindor and Avery being Ravenclaw, they weren't crossing a divide like if the younger boy had been in Slytherin.

They were opposite in every way. Avery liked poetry, _ridiculous poetry_ and oddly specific books in dead languages and was the poster boy for Ravenclaw he could talk for hours on any subject and even if he knew very little about it was intelligent enough to be able to converse easily.

Thorfinn had always preferred action over words, he rarely found himself in a situation he needed to rely on good articulation to get out of. He had always been taller than most of his peers and as his body matured he became athletic and strong which intimated most people. He was the star chaser of the Quidditch team, middle ground in his grades and when girls had started to matter he found he didn't have too much to prove that area either.

When he had first started at the school everyone had expected he would be great friends with Rabstan, almost everyone he met would say 'oh have you met Lestrange? You two would get on great' but they didn't, not even at all. They had been thrown together a lot over the years but had just never gelled. Their temperament was very similar, both prone to emotional outbursts and reacting too quickly in the moment. Though he believed they were on a different scale, he could admit that his label as a hot head was accurate especially when his blood was already up but Rabastan could be borderline unstable at times.

But that was where their similarities ended, for all of Lestrange's outward mockery of Lucius Malfoy he was actually pretty vain himself; Thorfinn had never really cared about what fork to use at a dinner party or what colour was the best one to wear at functions or the type of flowers that showed a witch you were serious. Not that he'd need to know that, he never was.

His parents were not as _formal_ as other parents in pureblood circles, his mother was seen as a bit of a renegade, loud opinionated and not afraid to tell someone where to stuff it. While he was sure most pureblood wives had more personality under their pretty shells in private, his mother never made the distinction and behaved _however_ she liked _wherever_ she liked.

He had heard his father tell the story of her wearing trousers to a Black Christmas party countless times, the _famed_ evening had occurred before he was even born and yet it was still whispered about, still a black spot against her name nearly twenty years later. Apparently when asked point blank by Walburga Black if she thought her attire was acceptable she had told the old crone that it was minus five outside and if she had to come to one of these things to make small talk and arse kiss for three solid hours she would at least be comfortable.

He had never cared for any of the other pureblood scions except for the one in the bed next to him, with most families of the sacred twenty-eight their entire personalities seemed fabricated except the Avery's, they really were that poncy in real life, it should have made him hate them but he couldn't.

They weren't friends at first, they hadn't moved in the same circles and then there was a detention in his fourth year, he couldn't even remember what it was for now but they had both been there for some misdemeanour or other and were tasked with cleaning the vast number of school trophies, _the muggle way._ It took four nights to get it all done and in that time a burgeoning respect was formed.

Over time they pooled their resources and a relationship of mutual benefit was born. Evander assisted him in securing his OWLs and he got a few of the more petulant Slytherin's off the boys back.

Avery's father was pleased he had made a firm connection while at school, he was a still little put out that his son wasn't a Slytherin and had been concerned it would hinder his chances once he left. Thorfinn's own parents were pleased that he had made a connection with a bit more intelligence than the average.

And now here he was looking at his _best friend_ , as that's what he was now, pale and shaking lying on his bed. It was like his body couldn't decide if it was hot or cold, a thick sweat covered his brow but his body trembled as if he had been standing in the snow for hours.

"How long do you think it will be like this?" Evander whispered.

He turned to him having not been aware he had come back around "I think it is different for everyone but Yaxley said he was sick as a dog for two days and that bloke could probably take an Aveda to the chest and shake it off, so I think it might be a while"

Avery nodded or at least he thought he did it was difficult to tell with all of the tremors.

"Do you think when you get marked they will put us together?" Evander whispered.

"Yaxley and the Russian get to work together" He reasoned.

"Could you not call him that" Evander pressed exasperation creeping into his tired tone.

"Why not? It's what he is" he muttered petulantly, kicking his feet up to rest on the side of the bed.

"Yes I am aware that Dolohov isn't from this country" Evander bit out, it was obviously difficult for him to speak "but you understand how society works being foreign is still seen as being uncouth, ridiculous as that is"

"He's never seemed the _poncy_ sort, not like you lot, I doubt it would bother him"

His friend sighed "he would if he thought you were _intending_ a slight, which you probably would be"

"So what?"

"So... if this evening has taught you anything it's that what we are getting into is serious... There are rules, hierarchy etc.. well you've never been very good at that stuff it might be best to keep you mouth shut" Thorfinn glared at the remark "You know what I mean"

The room fell into silence and all that could be heard was Evander's laboured breathing until he turned his head on the pillow "Did you not think Bellatrix looked radiant tonight?"

Thorfinn laughed, Avery's crush amused him greatly, as the crazy bitch was married he had no need to worry about real danger to his friend.

"If you like that sort of thing" He said trying to suppress his smile, Evander gave him a waning one in return.

"So you next?" He asked quietly.

"Me next" Thorfinn affirmed.

He wasn't worried he would rather he didn't have to do it in front of everyone but he was ready for this.

* * *

 _A/N Big Alpha Love to Kreeblim Sabs who looks over this story for me, next week - Lucius! _


	6. The Aristocrat's Tale (Lucius's Story)

_A/N more familiar ground with this particular Death Eater._

 _Alpha love to the awesome Kreeblim Sabs!_

 _Fancasts: Lucius Malfoy (younger) - Alex Pettyfer / Narcissa Malfoy (younger) - Cara Delevingne / Severus Snape - Louis Garrel_

* * *

Chapter 5: The Aristocrat's Tale (Lucius' Story)

The Manor

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sped from the castle as soon as the meeting had been called to a close, he didn't even stop when the Dark Lord called one of the _guests_ back, and he had no time.

He hadn't wanted to come at all this evening but he had no choice, the Dark Lord wasn't a wizard you could drop a ' _Regrettably…_ ' note too. In his haste he managed to cover the ramshackle drive before most people had even left the room and apparated without delay. He was desperate to get home to his wife.

Wife. _His wife_.

He had still not tired of saying it and it was almost three years to the day since they had married. Narcissa Black, as was, was everything he had ever dreamed of in wife and more. Those that saw their relationship, that observed their genuine happiness would say they were _lucky_. But Lucius knew better, as if he would have left something so important down to luck.

He had gone through the motions with his father, as was expected of him. When Abraxas Malfoy had brought up the idea of marriage, he had pressed upon his son that he should pick from the House of Black, as ties to their family were worth having. His father had told him that Cygnus's girls were all reportedly beautiful, it wouldn't have worried most pure-blooded fathers what they looked like but Malfoy's put a value in beauty in all things, but most especially in wives. He had dutifully agreed with his father's request and said he would endeavour to compile with his wishes.

The reality that was behind his subdued acquiescence was very different. Narcissa Black had been in the year below him while he attended Hogwarts and almost from the very first moment he saw her he was determined to have her. She had walked into the back of the Great Hall and at the very same moment that the sorting hat declared her Slytherin his heart declared her his. He wasn't the only one who noticed her of course, she was uncommonly beautiful but he believed he was the only one that had studied her like he had, the only one who had developed a _true_ appreciation for what lingered beneath the surface. She was like a Venus flytrap, delicate, alluring and yet held a tantalizing promise of being completely deadly when you got up close.

She was _utterly_ perfect.

Exquisite, gentle flower she may have been, though he was certain she would become formidable when she adjusted to love and affection being rained upon her. It had been painfully apparent that even with being her mother's favourite she had been severely lacking in both of those things while at home.

So he had dropped hints, subtly of course, and used every machination he could think of to ensure that when his father had decided it was time for him to marry he would see an allegiance with the House of Black as the best option. Abraxas Malfoy was a shrewd man, Lucius was fairly certain he knew what he had been up to but as he evidently agreed with his choice of wife there was no issue.

The door to his own Manor was opened as he approached and he removed his outer robes before moving into the main house, his eyes span around the opulence on display and drank in the comfort and luxury that had been so sorely lacking from his Lord's latest choice of _residence_. He couldn't call that decrepit, drafty ruin a home, through the Dark Lord didn't seem to place much value in bricks and mortar.

As long as his Lord had a place to say that _wasn't_ his home was fine. He was dedicated to his master and would do almost anything to secure his position deep within the inner circle, as his father had been before him, but not that, his home was his respite and more than that, it was where _she_ lived.

His family home had always been impressive, but his wife had added so much to it, her taste was exemplary and every addition intensified the grandeur of the place.

Reaching the foot of the central staircase he raced up the steps two by two in a very _unlordly_ fashion and rushed down the corridor towards Narcissa's chamber.

He found her in her sitting room, resting delicately as ever on a high back chair while staring absently out of the window, the book in her lap looked long forgotten. Her face appeared calm and serene, even her eyes looked bright and untroubled as she smiled at him.

He noticed the pretence when he got closer, he had asked her on their wedding day never to pretend with him. The veneer was _imperative_ but it was for others, and he had no desire to ever see it while in the walls of his own home.

When he was stood right in front of her he could see her shaking, he gently pulled the book out of her hands and she gave no resistance. Bending slightly he scoped her up and sat down in her former seat with her on his lap, running a hand along her spine till she started sobbing, burying her face into his neck.

When he had woken up that morning it was to find he was alone, in all the time they had been married that had only occurred a handful of times and never when he had not previously known about it. He had dressed hastily and moved around the house in search of her, by the time he had been up for thirty minutes and still not found her he was almost frantic, it wasn't till one of the elves approached him, hesitantly, that he was told she was in the garden.

He paused at the side doors, Narcissa was sat on a wooden bench that had been wrapped with rose bushes, the dark leaves covered in soft pink blooms, she was facing away from the house but he could see she still had her nightgown on and although there was only a thin summer blanket around her shoulders she did not seem to notice the cold.

"My love?" he began, running a finger across her chilled pale cheek.

Her head snapped up to face him and he knew, it had happened again, he had simply sat down next to her and held her hand while they watched the sun come up together.

Now in her rooms he waited for her anguished cries to stop and willed himself to find the words to put her at ease.

"My dear, I told you when we were first married that Malfoy's were rare, often completely one of kind, at least they have been for six generations. Something that unique that perfect..." he heard a low snort, that gladdened his heart "anything that special is never easy to obtain" he leant down and pushed her pale blonde hair from her face "just like you".

They sat there for a while, ensconced in a chair hiding from the world. Their time would come.

* * *

Narcissa had long since fallen asleep when an elf dropped into his own chambers to announce the arrival of Severus Snape, if it had been anyone else he would have told them to go but he couldn't do that to him. He walked down to the Library slowly adjusting his robes as he went, shaking off their rumbled appearance from sitting in the chair for hours.

As he opened the door he found the dark haired boy sitting at the table fingering through the texts that had been left out from earlier.

"Good evening Severus, what can I do for you?" he asked cordially.

"Evening Lucius, sorry to disturb you"

"Please Severus it is no disturbance, as you well know, I take it you would like to stay?"

"Only if…"

"Of course it is no imposition I have told you many times a room is always at your disposal, I do wish you would use it more instead of insisting you keep that run down shack you call a home"

He moved over to the sideboard to pour them both a drink, he knew he needed it. When he turned around and proffered the glass to Severus he could see how tired he looked.

When he first met Severus he had read his life story from his appearance like the boy handed it to him a parchment guide to his life, he had been treated badly by almost everyone he had ever met. He was defensive, destructive and brilliant and Lucius had looked to exploit that brilliance.

Severus possessed an almost natural gift for Potions and had not been at the school long before he was being heralded as something of a prodigy, had he come from the first set he would have been looking at a very bright future indeed, but he had not, and as such he would need _assistance_.

It was always useful to have people indebted to you, and while Lucius might not have needed anything from the young boy then he was sure he would have some need of his services in the future.

However in a twist of fates that was very rare for him over time he found he actually began to feel a regard for the half-blood orphan. Lucius had been taught that loyalty was rarer than gold and should be rewarded with precious gems, Severus' loyalty had been unwavering and in the end Lucius rewarded it in the best way he could, by talking the Dark Lord into admitting a half-blood amongst their ranks.

* * *

Once Severus had gone to bed Lucius climbed the stairs heading for the family wing.

He climbed into bed next to his beautiful wife, in his beautiful house, quietly ruminating that soon they would have a perfect son, who, thanks to his actions, would achieve power beyond his wildest dreams and then, Lucius sighed into the darkened room, then he would have everything.


	7. The Lost Boy's Tale (Severus' Story)

_A/N Thank you for sticking with this one! Now for a return visit to The Hog's Head._

 _Thanks to Kreeblim Sabs who acts as alpha reader, sounding board and crutch for this fic!_

 _Fancasts: Severus Snape - Louis Garrel / Regulus Black - Eoin Macken / Barty Crouch Jnr - Iwan Rheon / Lucius Malfoy (younger) - Alex Pettyfer_

* * *

Chapter 6: The Lost Boy's Tale (Severus' Story)

The Hogs Head

* * *

Severus reluctantly agreed to follow Barty and Regulus to Hogsmeade, though the prospect of an evening trying to suppress Barty's _exuberance_ had little appeal. Reg had shot him a look that made it clear he would have met no refusal so Severus agreed… unhappily. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be.

The three boys weren't close, despite appearances. They found themselves together regularly as they were cast out from everywhere else. As much as Regulus may have been more popular than the others he had no more _real_ friends than Severus did.

He followed Barty into the Hog's Head, who in his excitable haste had pushed the door with such ferocity it nearly fell off its hinges. He hastened to apologise as the younger boy bumped and jostled his way through the crowd. Not that Severus really cared whether people were upset but he wanted to quell any possible unrest before it got started. The _request_ they had received to attend that night had explicitly stated that they were not to draw attention to themselves and he had no desire of pulling on that particular thread.

He watched as Barty sat, barely able to contain himself in his seat, he would have been amused if the whole thing wasn't so fucking tragic. He fell into another seat at the table and narrowed his eyes as Regulus who beat a hasty retreat to the bar, his irises followed his progress, he hoped he could feel them scorching into the back of his head.

He turned to look at the sixteen-year-old boy in front of him, the boy to old to be acting like a toddler promised he could have ice cream and stay up past his bedtime. He sighed loudly "Barty keep your voice down and for Merlin's sake sit still"

If Lucius had been one of their number he would have slapped him around the ear, but Severus would never do that, especially not to Barty.

He had been changing for the shower once in the Slytherin boys bathrooms, stationed at the back of the tiled space as still pretty self-conscious fifth year, he had caught sight of Barty's just as he was changing, a half second glance at his exposed shoulder told him all he needed to know. As he looked away he caught Barty looking at fresh bruising at the top of his own arm and bristled slightly but forced it down and marched into the shower without another word.

He supposed Lily would have said that it was unhealthy, that they should have talked about their feelings, he wasn't sure how much further they would have got than a grunt to acknowledge that the other also had a shit father, in fairness in their house they could have started a league, Severus and Barty would have only been mid table.

Pulling himself away from dangerous thoughts of green eyes he saw Barty staring wistfully in the general direction of the bar, he didn't have to look to confirm the target of his gaze, he was certain if he had bothered to check half the bar would have been looking in that general direction.

The thought that he himself might have been that obvious for all those years was sickening, not that it mattered now.

Barty turned and shrugged as if he hadn't been mooning across the pub with an expression of thinly veiled longing, at his _friend_. _I know what that is like_ you poor bastard, Severus knew what it was like to be sat with a person, wanting nothing more than to get as close as possible to them, to breath the same air, to feel the very heart of them near you, and to violently want to be as far away as possible from them at the same time, wanting to run when they tell you _you're the greatest friend_.

"I can't wait for it to be my turn; I can't believe I'm going to have to wait at least another year" Barty sighed.

Barty was smart but not bright, his mind moved quickly from one plan to the next, he was so willing to move into the outside world that he flittered around it aimlessly. Severus knew that neither Barty or Reg would make it to the end of school to be marked, there was no way _he_ would wait that long, the Dark Lord eyed them both like precious jewels for his collections, Severus envied them.

Reg the pureblood prince from a noble house, a name, a family of passion, fierce warriors, money and prestige. Barty a pureblood son of a particularly well-placed adversary, both a veritable banquet for their Lord.

Not like him, not like poor, unremarkable, half blood him.

He hadn't even wanted to see him at first, Lucius had insisted, and as Lucius had agreed to fund his potions mastery he didn't have much choice but to carry out his requests.

He had stood in front of the Dark Lord and willed himself not to be intimidated, he had turned to face them "Lucius tells me you are the best in your year, best for twenty years with potions"

"Yes… my lord" Severus had managed to stumble out.

And he had smiled at him.

There had been numerous visits since then, he asked him questions and got to know his history, he promised him a brotherhood, a place to go, it felt close to an acceptance of sorts.

Lily's voice, it didn't sound so much like her anymore but he still thought of it as her, when the voice in his mind would nag at him "don't trust them" it would say. He could have agreed but he didn't have anywhere else to go. He wanted power, wanted respect, this was the only way he would get it.

It wasn't going to be easy.

As the clock approached 10.30 Barty rushed to leave, smile still pulling on his lips, Barty was entirely too eager for the cause, it made him blind to the dangers. Severus worried about him, he wasn't as thick-skinned as he would like to think, he worried about how the world would chew him up and spit it out

He thought back to the small huddled group of new potential _recruits_ all eyeing each other up. He wondered how many were similar to him, wondered why they were so keen to hand over her pale unblemished flesh. Regulus had his own reasons, family honour and all that came with it.

But how many were like him and Barty. He shared so many similarities with the young boy it almost seemed strange that they were so different, so polar opposite in their approach to their lives. What it came down to was personality type; Barry was the classic extrovert, he thrived off people, and noise, and groups. He would be drawn to expressive people, want to share ideas and emotions, whenever he felt pain he externalised, if he became enraged he would fly right off the handle, he would shout and scream and curse.

Barty built his world around his all-consuming hatred of his father, Severus built his around how much he hated himself. He was an introvert, he internalised all of his pain, he had become so desensitised to stress reaction that he wasn't sure he felt the pain or hurt in the same way normal people did anymore, it was a constant wonder that he didn't have an ulcer.

After another hour of sparse chat Severus made to get another round and Reg declined "Saving you coherence for your paramour" he sneered.

Reg smirked at him though it did little to hide the blush that covered his cheeks.

Finally deciding it was time to head home they marched back into the frosty street, he was glad of the numerous glasses he'd had, if only for the benefit of the alcohol coat he now wore.

All feeling of warmth in his extremities lifted as he raised his head at the sound of loud noises only to watch a rowdy group leave the Three Broomsticks. He stilled immediately, startling red hair, round-rimmed glasses and a face just like the boy next to him. He reached instinctively for his wand as his eyes narrowed on the marauders and Lily Evans.

He had thought for a moment everything was going to be fine, Potter's eyes had narrowed when he had seen him but he had looked down at the girl in his arms and seemed to think better of it. Severus sneered, it wasn't like she would care either way.

Potter had made movement indicating he was going to ignore them and continue walking down the street but just then Sirius had turned and caught sight of them, he saw the rage in the face of the former Black heir, and confusion, he looked from one to the other probably deciding who he hated more. When Severus looked at Reg he saw the momentary flash of hurt in his eyes before the shield came down, just as his older brother approached.

"Well isn't this cosy?" he called, slurring his words and hopping from foot to foot slightly unsteady on his feet "Snivellus and golden boy out for a nice holiday drink… do tell mother Merry Christmas won't you Reggie" he laughed and patted Reg's cheek condescendingly.

Lupin appeared before the atmosphere could descend any further and dragged the older Black away. Himself and Reg stood there in an unofficial moment of silence both watching people leave that they no longer had the right to call back.

* * *

He apparated to Spinner's End and stood outside, facing the building for an age summoning up the strength to move inside. He hated this house more than anything else in existence, it was oppressive, dank and signified everything he hated about his early life and his parents.

They were gone now.

Lily was gone.

They were all gone.

He collapsed into an aged chair and stared at the wall for a few moments debating going to sleep, maybe the marking had affected him more than he realised but he just wasn't ready for another evening here.

He did not want to face what life might be like after Hogwarts when he had no other home to go to.

* * *

Severus found himself once again marching up the drive to the large doors at Malfoy Manor, he couldn't exactly say that the home was welcoming. Though the opulence on display made him even more aware of the inadequacy of his own abode somehow the grandness of the surroundings felt just as oppressive in their own way.

He left a clearly distracted Lucius after one drink and retreated to his usual room, collapsing on the bed he stared at the ceiling and willed himself to fall to sleep.

It wouldn't come, however, like he knew it wouldn't.

He didn't deserve sleep, he felt like a condemned man. He shook his head against his own melodramatics but it was true, he already knew that the path he was on could very well lead to his destruction. He had made the choice to get on it without fully believing in all the ideas that had been laid before him and that could lead to him being killed before he was even asked to do something unsavoury.

He lifted his pale bony fingers in front of his face, drinking in the sight of them. How long before he had blood on his hands?


	8. The Spare's Tale (Rabastan's Story)

_A/N back to Lestrange Manor this time for Rabastan! As ever much love to Kreeblim Sabs for helping me stick these chapters together!_

 _Fancasts: Rabastan Lestrange - Colin O'Donoghue / Ade Selwyn - Donald Glover_

* * *

Chapter 7: The Spare's Tale (Rabastan's Story)

Another Manor

* * *

Rabastan Lestrange heard the Dark Lord's crisp voice call for Rowle to stop and he instinctively paused also, as his to-be Master announced to the room at large that the towering blond would be the next inducted Death Eater he barely contained his hiss. It had been torturous enough to stand at the back, through the entire meeting, while the simpering Avery Jnr was marked but now Rowle?!

He marched from the room fists clenched, his sister in law might literally kill him if he had an outburst. But… It just wasn't fair, why should he be stood at the back with all of the riff raff, surely he should have earnt his place amongst them by birth? After all his father had been an active supporter and his brother had been marked long before, alongside his wife.

He had thought the reason for hesitation might have been his age, traditionally no one got their mark until they left Hogwarts, but that had just gone out the window, Avery was in the year below him and Thorfinn the same year.

He watched his brother leave the room and sighed, he would no doubt be drinking heavily this evening. Rodolphus wasn't built for this life, not even slightly, nor did he want it, at least not like Rabastan did.

He impatiently called Selwyn over and made his own exit, as he reached the door he couldn't resist laying a hard shoulder into Rowle who was stood just outside the castle, like some gormless, lumbering century. No doubt he was waiting to pick up his pitiful mate.

He passed a knot of fellow Slytherin's on his way to the apparition point, he was on nodding terms with Black, as was to be expected, but potential future brother in arms or not he wouldn't have lowered himself to communicate with the other two. If he was put after a blood traitor and a half-blood he would not be able to contain himself, Bella be damned.

As the apparated to his home Rabastan sighed in relief, he wanted to retreat to his rooms, a shuffle to the right caught his attention, oh, he'd almost forgotten Selwyn would be there "you can set up in the library" he commanded absently and retreated to the back of the house.

He regarded his brother's closed door for a moment but decided against disturbing him. It took a lot to wind Dolph up but their last argument about his waiting to join the Death Eaters had ended with him screaming uncontrollably. No, it definitely was best to leave Rodolphus until he had worked his way out of the snit he would no doubt be in after attending tonight.

Instead, he went into his rooms and threw himself into a chair, shrugging out of his robe, the fabric was of the darkest blue and cut from an incredibly expensive fabric but it wasn't the black one he wanted and so he let it fall to the floor in disgust.

It wasn't as if not getting his own way was unfamiliar to him, he was just unused to being unable to manipulate things in his favour after the fact. He had been waiting for _six months_ now and nothing he did was speeding things along, he was growing impatient.

He wondered if the Dark Lord had anything in particular against him, but he quickly dismissed it, he got the impression that he would know by now if his to-be master had resolutely decided that he was not to be included. Bella had told him, more than once, that the Dark Lord had mentioned him by name, said 'his time would come' maybe he was being tested? His temper was legendary by this point amongst his peers, though that wasn't without some element of design, maybe Voldemort was attempting to ascertain how much design exactly.

Though he was a bit of a loose canon he rarely, let his emotions get the better of him. More he overplayed his hand when he was in front of an audience to give evidence to the growing assumption that he was slightly unstable. That reputation had led to him being teased and sneered at on occasion but it also resulted in most of his acquaintances regarding him with some kind of fear, which was what he desired.

He had been born into a family where the men were dominant in everything they did but of principal importance was their physicality. His father was a tall broad man with wide shoulders and powerful arms who intimidated most other men just by being in his presence. His older brother Rodolphus had been cast entirely in their father's image, whereas he, he had taken after his mother. While he was still tall and broad, although, to a lesser degree, he didn't carry his weight in the same way, his form was slim, his face more chiselled, with refined cheekbones and piercing eyes. Rabastan had been raised to revear the importance of physical rule and he just didn't have it.

While sports and exercise were not as innate to him as his brother he had toiled and learnt to be good at those things, but there was only so much you could overcome with practice.

He couldn't make up his _shortcomings_ with grade, it was expected that he get those anyway. He had enjoyed some measure of protection from his affectionate mother but that had died along with her. He had seen the way his father looked at him like he wasn't quite sure what to do with this son, a son that didn't look like a younger version of himself. He was never sure whether it was his failings or the fact that he looked so much like his mother that made his father neglectful, he supposed it didn't really matter in the end.

When he got to school he noticed the surprised faces when his name was called, he didn't look like a Lestrange, if he had been a Black his frame and pretty features would have been assets, if he had been a Black no one would have looked twice at Sirius and Regulus, but with his last name he didn't fit.

So Rabastan adapted, he made the best of what he could, he got into fights, he lost his temper and he was cruel. Where his brother secured his supremacy because of his stature Rabastan had _won_ his through a hard-fought campaign, a campaign he had assumed he would have to continue running his whole life.

Then one night he met Tom Riddle, as he was still calling himself then, and everything changed.

Tom Riddle was lithe and yet had the barely leashed rage of a panther, Rabstan saw so many of his own traits mirrored back to him. When he saw his father give his allegiance to...to this… boy... This slip of an almost man he suddenly saw a future very different to the one he had imagined.

He was eager to get on with it.

* * *

After an hour or so of sulking in his own room, not that he would have admitted that was what he was going, Rabastan moved back down the stairs to check on Ade in the Library.

He had got the idea of forming a friendship with the Ravenclaw in the year below once he had seen Thorfinn gadding about with Avery Jr. A more unlikely pair you were unlikely to meet though somehow the relationship worked for them. Rabastan began to see the benefits himself.

When he looked into it, he believed he had made a better choice, Ade Selwyn was a pureblood but his family had run into some financial hardship, with the previous generation having wiped out most of what remained in their vaults. It would have been up to Ade to make his mark on the world and to heal that damage. Though Rabastan observed him be ill-equipped to do so, he was quiet and kept himself mainly to himself spending his time in the library and focusing almost entirely on good grades.

For a pureblood, Rabastan found his lack of understanding of how the world worked inexcusable. He could get the best grades he wanted but it didn't mean he would get anywhere. It was who you knew that determined your future now, not what you knew.

So they had struck a deal, Ade was answerable to Rabastan and in exchange he saw to it that he got the money that he needed for advanced school supplies and introductions.

He called out to him as he entered the library "have you finished that charms piece yet? I want to go to sleep"

He missed the clenched palm that gripped Ade's quill "in a moment Rabastan"

"Good, see you tomorrow" he called as he left the room.

"Yes tomorrow" Ade answered in his normal flat voice.

Rabastan signed, maybe tomorrow Bella would be able to give him news.


	9. The Ringleader's Tale (Walden's Story)

_A/N okay so this one is not pleasant, trigger warnings for adult and sexual content and a reminder that this fic is rated M._

 _Big love to Kreeblim Sabs who Alpha's this story - you get all the hearts._

 _Fancasts: Walden MacNair - Aidan Gillen / Louis Travers - Pedro Pascal_

* * *

The Ringleader's Tale (Walden's Story)

The Club

* * *

Walden MacNair broke away easily from the large group of boys his master had his eye on marking. He had catalogued them earlier there was no need to hang around now.

None of them held any particular interest for him, they were all as expected every single one... well, except maybe Severus and Barty. Both those boys definitely had more going on behind their eyes then either would readily admit. Barty's motivations were easy enough to dissect, most people were easy enough for him to pull apart like wings off a stationary insect, Barty hated his father and that was his driver. As for Severus, there was something else there, some power he couldn't immediately identify. Walden liked that in a person, recognised it as one of his own traits, though it wasn't thinly veiled brutality he saw behind the younger boy's eyes, rage certainly but not brutality. He would have to change that.

All it took was a trigger every wizard and witch had one, Merlin, even the muggles did and they were lower than dirt. He made it his mission to find those things within a person's psyche, it was normally a person, that one person that would split another man's soul open. That one where if you applied enough pressure to the soft skin of their throat the other would crack.

Walden loved the cracking.

But he liked the hunt too, most of the green boys lined up at the back offered him all of the information he would need just from one glance, he preferred to hunt for his treasure.

* * *

He apparated with Travers to the back of Knockturn Alley, it had been far too long since he had visited The Club hidden there, even by the Alley's lenient standards the place was frowned upon, though he wasn't there to gain approval. He smiled to himself at the thought of bringing some green fingered 'recruits' here, that would be a true lesson of what was to come.

He pushed a small surge of magic towards the panel at the side of the unmarked door, just enough so that his magical signature might be identified and he heard the door click open. It was always an adrenaline filled moment waiting to see if they would have banned him from the last time, not that simple banning would've stopped him but the hairs on the back of his arms pricked up nonetheless.

As he walked through the door he levelled his gaze at the familiar overweight witch the behind desk who observed him with contempt.

"Not tonight Walden" she chastised him, her tone laced with exasperation.

He turned to smile at her "why Madame Broody, I have only just got here" his tone was mocking and sarcastic, he didn't threaten her, he didn't need to, plus he was saving himself, no need to gorge on entrees when you wait to sink yourself into the main course.

She fixed him with a cold stare but it did not work on him, not when he could see the speck of fear hiding in the corner of her eyes, he felt his heart rate increase as he observed it. Though it wasn't strong enough, not that it mattered, he wouldn't sully himself with her poultry emotions anyhow.

"Who is new?" he asked her flatly.

She sighed "can't you take one of the others? the more experience girls are much better prepared to take anything you might…"

"Who is new?" he interrupted, he had no desire for someone hardened to the experience, he didn't want jaded, muted reactions, he wanted, no _needed_ intensity. He wanted emotion to roll off his guest for the evening, he wanted to be so overwhelmed in the coating of fear that he would feel he could bathe in it.

He stared the matron down if she wouldn't provide what he was looking for he would save his galleons and find his own entertainment. It wouldn't be the first time, his Lord would be slightly unhappy, but it was likely to only command a mild rebuke, he knew what he was when he had put the mark into his arm, he was sure that was why he had done it.

He saw the moment her resolve crumbled, she moved behind the desk and picked up a key "room four" she said "please be careful" she implored.

"Aren't I always" he sneered.

She opened her mouth to respond but clearly thought better of it. He left Travers to make his own arrangements and walked up to the room as indicated, his mind screamed at him to rush but he knew how much anticipation heightened his pleasure, with slow measured step he placed his key in the well used lock and entered the room.

* * *

It was dark, as was to be expected, these were not the type of places for you to be able to see yourself. He supposed for many experiences like this would be edged with the hint of shame, though he experienced no such emotion. He would apologise to no one for his habits.

The meagre light sources that were in the room were covered in swathes of patterned fabric which gave the whole space faintly blue hue, the patterns expanded along the walls leaving patches of lighter areas and more darkened corners.

He moved past the silk lined bedsheets and settled into a chair facing the door, he ignored the various bottles that were next to him, there would be time for a drink later, for now, he wanted his mind to be completely clear and focused.

After an age, he heard another key in the lock and he sat up straighter, his hands moving to grip the edge of the arms of the chair. A girl moved into the doorway, highlighted by the brighter light of the corridor for a moment before she turned and closed the door behind herself. Then she stood there, near the door, he had a chance to regard her properly then. She had a long flowing brown hair that skimmed the tops of her breasts which were pushed out indecently in a balconette style bra in the deepest red satin, she was wearing a translucent red dressing gown that did nothing to cover her body and she stood in heels awkwardly in some parody of what he imagined _she thought_ men would find attractive.

Walden revelled in her fumbling awkwardness, and clear as day inexperience it would make her more responsive, and he liked responsive.

He gestured with one hand had come closer and she did, falteringly, nerves mixed with shoes that didn't quite fit he suspected. He licked his lips and adjusted himself on the seat as he felt her mounting anxiety permeate the stifled air of the room.

When she moved to stand in front of him he ghosted his hands over her hips and down the front of her thighs, her pale skin was so soft, and unmarked, he couldn't detect the hint of glamors anywhere. He always checked it had become part of a ritual of sorts, he didn't appreciate finding evidence of other encounters on a witch's skin.

Again not speaking he gestured for her to move back towards the wall, he adjusted himself again as he drank in the widening of her pupils. He wouldn't allow himself to smirk, not yet.

 _Delayed gratification Walden_ , he reminded himself.

When she finally reached a place he was happy with he palmed his wand and flicked it at her lazily, his wordless curse rooting her to the spot and binding her body, the only thing she would be able to move was her eyes. Though her chest still heaved, he waited, patiently, like the predator he was for the moment she realised she couldn't move.

Her eyes darted down towards her useless limbs "there it is" he spoke aloud, letting her hear his voice for the first time. With another languid aim of his wand he banished her clothes, palming himself through his trousers as her laboured breathing became more audible, the accelerated raspy beat like music, he closed his eyes to relish in tempo.

They never told the new girls what to expect, the ones he spent time, he always wondered at that. There were girls here that he had spent time with, girls that he had just allowed to live, but no one ever told the new girls about him, he was never really sure why that was.

Standing from his place in the chair he shrugged out of his coat before rolling back his sleeves, the dark mark stood out prominently even against his dark skin. He had been one of the first branded, having known Tom Riddle since school, a young boy two years below him but he had seen his promise.

Walden had fought many to be in his current position of dominance, he thought he would not bow and scrape for anyone, but he recognised detached cruelty when he saw it, he regarded in the mirror of enough, but Riddle was something more, he had real power at fingertips and Walden had sought to be among the first to align himself to get what he wanted.

In _the new world,_ he would have a bevvy of potential is to choose from, already, not so much willing, but present to sate his every appetite.

He moved over to the girl with the chocolate hair and stepped close enough to study her face. Names he did not care, he would never remember, but the faces, he would recall clearly, he _loved_ to remember the faces.

He reached into his pocket pulling out an ornately jewelled knife and clicked it to reveal the sharp point, holding it in the girl's face, at the same time he lifted the bind on her from the throat up allowing her pretty scream to fill the room and her head to flail wildly.

He allowed her noise and movement until he had made his first cut, the serrated blade life gliding down, parting the soft skin of her stomach like butter. He aimed to silencing charm at her and paused to watch her muted cries as he moved the knife along the inside of her thighs.

As he worked the pale pink flesh with the blade he intermittently lifted her silencing along with the beats of her breathing, the pants and howls crashing like a raising symphony in his mind.

Beautiful.

Not as good as it could be, but still wonderful. The problem with these girls, even the unseasoned ones was that life had already dealt them too many blows, in his experience it was the pampered princesses that were the most fun, the ones that had been held to their parents' chests and cradled from the evils of the world, they always took longer to break. They always held out for the longest time, waiting for the knight to appear to save them, not like these girls. These ones had seen enough to know no one was coming.

When her tears began to mix with the spilt blood on her chest he shunted her immobilised form against the wall behind her and unsheathed himself from his trousers, entering her brutally. The sharp movements accelerated the blood flow her open wounds and he stared into her eyes. Her tears were still streaming but her sobs were silent. No longer because of the charm. He finally allowed the broad smirk to cross his face at the look of defeat in her eyes. He so loved the journey to get to this point but this was what made it all worthwhile when he saw the resignation enter their faces that was what he did it for.

The feeling of victory travelled right to his core, quickening his heart and tracing down his spine to leave a vice-like grip on his cock, he placed a rough bite on the side of the neck to stave off completion.

Winning was what it was important to him, what had always been important.

He had been born the youngest of three brothers and very much the runt of the litter. McNair was not a family name known for cunning, much like the Crabbe's the sons of his house had been prided on their brute strength. A fact his older brother's made him aware of repeatedly.

They pushed him into mud, slammed his hands into doors and held his head under water until he couldn't breathe. The torment only lasted until he was sixteen. It was then that his poor eldest brother was found in the field at the back of one of their family homes. Accidental poison consumption the healer had said, but they could offer no explanation for the bruises that littered his body.

A year later they found his other brother in a pile at the back of Knockturn Alley. Blitz attack, the auror's had said, no possible witnesses, no idea of potential suspects.

Walden planted basil on both their graves and forgot about the times there was a hand on the back of his neck, he was in control now, always. His family name meant whatever he wanted it to mean now.

He released the bind as he felt himself tighten inside her, she sagged against him, her loose limbs and lack of reaction making her seem like a puppet with her strings cut, the image enough to force his orgasm and he roughly bit her shoulder to muffle the sound of his release.

Spent, he pushed her off his body, not sparing a backwards glance as she fell to the floor in an inelegant pile of limbs. He collected himself together and wrapped his cloak back around his shoulders, pausing to drop a couple of coins at her feet as he left the room.


	10. The Brother's Tale (Reuben's Story)

_Fancasts: Antonin Dolohov - Michiel Huisman / Reuben Yaxley - Richard Armitage_

* * *

Chapter 9: The Brother's Tale (Reuben's Story)

The Mission

* * *

Ruben Yaxley tore his eyes away from the crouched form of Avery Jr on the floor to look around the room, impassively, from behind his mask. He noted a few faces from amongst the wash of guests at the back that were not quite managing to hide their discomfort, and they would have to work on that. Amongst the inner circle, there were no troubled faces, though he doubted that that was the case behind the cold eyes.

Few of those assembled had sons, but he was sure they were all thinking about what would happen when they did. He wondered himself just how keen he would be to hand over a child of his own to share in his brand; he supposed he would just have to answer that question when the time came.

Reuben suppressed a smile as he thought of the reaction from the wizard next to him, Antonin would say it was a wonder he did not already have children considering how much time and effort he expended in the area, his friend wasn't wrong, but there was no risk, he was always _incredibly_ careful.

Avery's resilience had surprised him somewhat, sure he screamed and yelled, but he held onto his bodily functions and managed to remain somewhat in control of his limbs and most importantly he didn't cry. He had expected a far worse display.

As far as he was aware this was the first marking that had ever been undertaken publicly, he wondered what point his Lord was trying to make. He couldn't have any issue with the Avery's. Avery Snr was revered almost above all others as part of the inner circle and while Avery Jr was hardly likely to make a sterling 'field' recruit he was easily one of the cleverest boys amongst those he was at school with, which would have more than made up for his deficiencies.

Reuben considered that maybe it was for the eyes in the back of the room, but why? It wasn't like his master was giving them a glimpse today so they could decide to walk away now if it seemed too much for them, it was already far too late for that.

* * *

His heart dropped slightly as he heard his named called for a mission that evening, he had been hoping to get away immediately following the marking, he was on a promise with a witch.

His small annoyance was worth it to see the disgusted look on Bella's face; he had trodden on her manicured toes more than once since he had the snake burnt into his arm. Sadly for the insane woman he had no interest in fucking her so she could not use her usual means of ensuring compliance.

He nodded dutifully to indicate his assent when his Lord finished with the required task and silently hoped he would be able to dispatch this particular assignment quickly.

* * *

He left a sulking Antonin on the pavement outside the Meadowes' home and apparated to his originally planned destination for this evening. He was over two hours late and reasonably sure there was still probably traces of blood over his person.

He knocked once on the bright green door, and Ciara open it, just to slither, she appeared in the gap wearing a prominent frown and not a great deal else.

"Where were you?" she pouted.

"I got held up" he replied flatly.

"You said that last week" she retorted.

"It was true then as well" he responded impatiently, it had been a long evening, and he had no desire to spend what was left of it arguing the toss on a witch's doorstep.

"It's not good enough Yax" she whined.

"Fine, okay I'll just go then" he replied calling her bluff as he turned to walk back down the garden path. That Ciara had been used to wizards falling over themselves to be with her had been all too apparent in her actions with him, though so far he had never capitulated to her demands.

He smirked when he heard the front door wrenched open and didn't hide it from his face when he turned back to her at her call.

"You done complaining?" he questioned roughly.

She nodded, and he was thankful for her silence and followed her inside.

He navigated the darkened hallway easily having been there before; Ciara had become a regular stop on his 'tour of London' as Thorfinn had christened his rotation of witches one night in the pub. Yaxley had been sleeping with her for a while now. She was a nineteen-year-old graduate of Beauxbatons Academy, tall willowy, with beautiful thick curly dark hair, she was perfect really, or she was when she managed to keep her mouth shut.

Despite his repeated explanations of what it was between them, i.e. just sex. She would whine and complain that she wanted more. Unfortunately, more wasn't really on the cards, it wasn't that he never wanted to get serious with a witch he was just forever not meeting the right one. He wanted to be challenged, intellectually as well as physically; he wanted someone to stand against his practice methods of intimidation, whoever she was he hadn't met her yet.

As they moved into Ciara's darkened bedroom, he waved his hand to brighten the lights and remove her robe. She repeatedly blinked at the change in light level as he drank in the pale blue underwear she had been hiding beneath the satin covering.

When his eyes fell to the matching garter belt and blue trimmed stockings he smiled at her "just when I think you don't understand me at all you do something that surprises me" she blushed prettily at his husky-voiced praise, and he laughed softly. All that he had done to her, all that he had said and she could still blush at promising words.

He stood several feet from her as he began to remove his clothes, slowly, his eyes never straying from hers. When she moved to unfasten the back of her bra he halted her, "no" he commanded firmly, his voice taking on a tone his fellow Death Eaters would recognise from missions.

She dropped her hands immediately, and he watched greedily as a chest heaved at the change in atmosphere in the room.

 _Good girl._

When he had stripped down his trousers, he stalked towards her, allowing his bare feet to push against the thick carpet. He saw her suppress a tremble at his movements, and he raised an eyebrow at her in silent query.

"Please hurry up Yax, you were already late as it was" she stumbled out.

"Always so eager, " he said with a deal of affection as he swiped his thumb against her cheek.

He moved his other hand from around his back and held up a piece of rope in front of the face. Once Ciara had fixed her eyes onto the slim cord he moved his other hand and very lightly tapped it with his wand charming to be the same shade of blue as her underwear, he always liked things to be _just so_.

He watched her eyes widen and listened to the sound of her increased heart rate for several beats before he laid a hand reassuringly on her upper arm "is this okay? He asked softly.

She paused for the briefest of moments before nodding her head several times. He gripped her chin gently pulling up her face, so her eyes met with his "I'm going to need to hear you say it."

"yes" she stammered out "yes it's okay."

 _Good girl._

Using a knotting method he had worked on earlier he fastened her wrists together, checking they weren't bound too tightly with her before levitating the bond and suspending her from the ceiling. Not so high that her feet lost purchase on the ground but just taut enough so that she was stretched out delightfully in front of him.

After dropping to the floor to adjust the stance of her legs he straightened and began placing deep, steady kisses against her soft heated flesh. He started under her ear and hovered over her collarbone until he was biting her hardened nipples through the delicate lace of her bra. He smiled against the skin of her ribcage as she writhed as much as she was able and he dipped his tongue into her belly button softly scoring his teeth against the hem of her knickers.

He continued his descent until he was positioned on his knees in front of her, her breath was rough, and he delighted in her parted lips and flushed cheeks. He softly ran his hands up and down her legs, especially slowly, while tracing her inner thighs, moving almost a snail's pace. Once he had nearly reached her apex he paused to hold his hand there momentarily before turning away to begin again, on the third time round her keening voice broke through the blood pounding in his ears.

"Please," she called "please please."

"What do you want Ciara?" he asked fighting to keep his desire from his voice.

"I want you to touch me" she panted.

"Where?" he asked lips ghosting against the inside of her thigh.

"You know _where_ " she huffed a little impatiently and the beamed at her. Reuben delighted in seeing the reserved girl he had met initially so undone, but he wasn't finished, he couldn't resist teasing her further.

"With what?" he asked, with a _very_ much feigned level of disinterest.

Her cheeks flamed redder than he'd ever seen them, but she answered, desperation winning out over embarrassment "with your tongue" she replied breathlessly, arms pulling on the rope apparently wanting to hide her face.

 _Good girl._

"Since you asked so nicely" he moved forward vanishing her pretty lace knickers into the pocket of his robes. "what's the rule?" he asked firmly, as his face stopped inches away from her centre. He blew a steady stream of air against her slit.

"Don't come until you say" she repeated correctly, and he gave into her request.

It didn't take much to undo her like this; she had already been wound up, three or four deep licks and several twirls around her sensitive clit and she was trembling against his mouth.

"Please, please, please" she begged steadily, and he decided to take pity on her. Normally he would have made her wait longer, but he had been late after all. He moved his grip from her knees to the back of her thighs, resting his hands just beneath her perfect arse and pulled her body hastily against his face as he thrust his tongue deep inside her.

"Now Ciara" he spoke against her folds and looked up the line of her frame as she broke apart around him, she screamed so loud he wondered if she had silencing charms up but then he remembered that it didn't matter, he didn't live here.

* * *

A couple of hours later, rightly stated, he walked through the doors of his home. The sun was almost up in the sky, but he knew his mother would still be up.

Headless of the state his earlier activities would have left him in he marched through the dark townhouse and gently knocked just once on her sitting room door before letting himself in.

She was awake, as he had suspected, sitting at a small table pouring over a photo album. That the sight was familiar did nothing to ease the pain that gripped his chest. As he moved to sit down next to her, he already knew the page that would be open, a picture displaying his younger brother Sebastian aged about four whipping around on the new broom that he had just been bought.

"He was so happy then," she said into the quiet room.

"He was always happy" he answered automatically, the conversation happening by route now, so often the same words were spoken.

She brushed her fingers affectionately over the moving parchment one final time before looking up to regard him "and are you happy Reuben?" he turned his head to the side for a moment, his mother never ceased to amaze him. Despite his brother's death over ten years ago breaking much of her resolve she still had these moments of amazing clarity that would pierce through the fog.

"I'm as happy as I can be... for now"

* * *

 _Thanks to Kreeblim Sabs who offers invaluable guidance and feedback while I piece this story together._


	11. The Overlooked's Tale (Ade's Story)

_Fancasts: Ade Selwyn - Donald Glover / Rabastan Lestrange - Colin O'Donoghue_

 _A/N Been a little while but I have been looking forward to this chapter, hope you guys like it too. Big love to wonderful Kreeblim Sabs who provides invaluable literary support, as well as hand holding for this story._

* * *

Chapter 10: The Overlooked's Tale (Ade's Story)

Another Manor

* * *

Ade Selwyn waited for the grand, imposing doors of the Lestrange family library to close behind Rabastan, then allowed himself to pause from retrieving his study materials from his worn satchel. As the wood fell back onto its frame, he froze completely, his limbs rigid as if he had been stunned, his book-laden hands remaining static in the silent air.

 _We could kill him, slowly wrap our hands around his privileged throat and push our harsh thumbs over his windpipe._

 _Blue, that's the colour he would go, deep, true blue. White first, through shock and then from the loss of blood flow, then his lips would tinge a dreamy navy._

 _Coughing and spluttering, wide-eyed and completely at our mercy, who would be in charge then?_

He waited, still unmoving, as he heard Rabastan's steps fade into the darkness of the rooms above, then he carefully lowered the thick tomes, gently placing them in front of him before shutting his eyes. He let his now empty hands fall to the abused table where they grasped at the edge, his fingers biting into the unforgiving surface as he imagined his rage flowing out through the chewed tips, till he felt himself start to calm.

The mania left. The red tinted mist that descended whenever Rabastan spoke to him like a serf, the indignation that heated his blood and made his body stiffen and his hands fist. It swept away from him, rolling from his tense shoulders as he sat unobserved in the vast room. His breathing became shallow and slowed, and he released his death grip on the table.

The rage left, but the hate didn't.

Ade was glad.

The hate fuelled him. Propelled him to not just to dream of another existence, but plan for it.

It was the hate that woke him in the morning, an hour earlier than was necessary, the hate that kept him quiet while he listened to the swill that those around him spoke, the hate the whispered comforting truths to him.

 _None of this will matter one day; no one will remember where we came from._

 _One day we will have them on their backs, struggling like overturned beetles in the sun. Their faces will be bloody and repentant; they will beg for us to save their worthless lives and we will decide whether to play the benevolent man or an avenging angel._

 _All the choices will be ours._

 _Choices, choices, choices._

Ade moved smoothly to position the items on the table to look as if he were hard at work, appearances he was good at, he could perfect a stainless sheen on his countenance to mirror back whatever the person he was with wanted to see.

 _It's always some version of themselves; people are arrogant like that._

Scion to a family that had made more than their fair share of poor decisions Ade had taken Rabastan's offer of a partnership of mutual value. He had watched the Lestrange spare cart around Hogwarts for years as if he was superior to everyone else. Ade saw him for what he was, a petulant, spoiled school boy who didn't quite fit. He saw how Rab created an extreme version of himself, a snarling shimmering mirage that was designed to intimidate and enthral all at once.

But the performance did not work on him.

Like a glamour charm cast over a scar you knew was there, the mask glittered but did not obscure the reality of the ugly blemish underneath.

Ade considered himself smart, maybe almost as smart as Evander Avery, though he didn't let his intelligence consume his personality as that boy did, Evander was also good, _good_ in a way that he would never be.

But his intelligence hadn't helped him. The Selwyns, having lost a vast deal of their fortune, were no longer admitted to the inner circles of sacred twenty-eight society. They may not have been looked upon as inferior, like blood traitors, but they weren't far off. As such he hadn't spent his summers with their children, learning their ways and studying their machinations. When he got to Hogwarts, he was playing catch up.

He had come with all of the right pieces only to find everyone else was playing a different game.

He had watched Rabastan's quiet feud with Rowle, first with endless boredom and then with something approaching interest. When the lumbering blond picked a Ravenclaw friend Ade knew it would be long before Rabastan would want one.

He made himself the obvious choice.

He feigned his lack of understanding of how the world worked, he may have come late to the game but he was a quick learner and by now he was a pro, but a quiet one. He needed Rabastan as much as he needed him, but Lestrange was not one to have a pet that could think for themselves.

 _We can show him one day._

 _Show him how much_ _understanding_ _he lacked._

 _Show him while we crush his life around him before we break his mind, break it into tiny fragments._

Ade stood rubbing his hands over his face; he had enough to do without working on homework tonight. The meeting had been something of an eye-opener, he had been slightly taken aback at just _how much_ he had enjoyed seeing Avery prostate on the floor, yelling in pain. Not even the boy's formidable father or his fat pockets were able to save him from that fate.

That was the glorious thing about Tom Riddle, apparently sociopathic though he was and charismatic as a sharpened blade he may have been; the man was a real leveller.

Ade stretched languidly before moving through the mismanaged stacks; the general disorder didn't bother him, he had spent so much time in the library he knew where everything was. He came to a stop in front of the books he wanted. Books so dark they made the still air almost vibrate around them with the promise of treasures laid within their pages. Books that seemed to leak their evil into the wood of the shelves they were placed on.

 _Our kind of books._

 _Books that speak to our soul._

Ade plucked the book he had been looking for and removed it from the sagging shelf with all the care he could muster before delicately pulling it open and running his hands almost affectionately over the old pages. When he came across a parchment sheet spattered with what was unmistakably dried blood his fingers shook with overwhelming need, and he moved back to the desk to carefully copy out the inscribed words.

 _Everything will come to us; we just have to be patient._

 _Patients in the quiet until we can be still in the chaos._

Ade concentrated on the slow curve of his letters filling his parchment.

These zealots with their rules for what you had to wear and what was the appropriate flower to send a dear cousin on his birthday, these setters of the social hierarchy seemed to completely miss that in their quest to preserve their ways they were irrevocably changing them. By handing their allegiance to Voldemort, they removed themselves from the positions of complete power.

The pureblood world had a new regent, and he held many things within his gift.

As Ade charmed the ink on the page to dry and sheathed the new addition to his growing grimoire into his satchel the door opened and Rabastan stalked back into the library.

"Have you finished that charms piece yet? I want to go to sleep" he whined.

Ade's hand clenched automatically as the petulant voice rang out in the quiet space, he would have to work on that, work on those little reactions, those telling little ripples he allowed to disturb the surface of his fabricated visage.

"In a moment Rabastan," he bit out in as impassive a tone as he could.

"Good, see you tomorrow," Rabastan said and left the room, acting like a commanding officer allowing his man to stand down for the evening.

"Yes tomorrow" Ade answered in his normal flat voice.

He packed up his things as the door, once again, slammed shut.

 _The mark will make us all equal._

 _Then we will elevate ourselves above them._

Ade idly wondered what he would need to do to get his manor back? He suspected from what he had seen already the cost would be substantial, with flesh and blood the possible currency of choice.

He could cope with that he thought.

After all, so many accidents happened in the field.


	12. The Marked's Tale (Evander's Story)

_Big hugs to Kreeblimsabs, who despite being super busy is still lending her Alpha support to this fic. About 5 chapters to go following this one :)_

 _Fan casts: Evander Avery - Colin Morgan / Eoghan Avery - Lee Pace / Thorfinn Rowle - Alexander Skarsgard_

* * *

Chapter 11: The Marked's Tale (Evander's Story)

The Bedside

* * *

Evander Avery walked falteringly in his Father's wake. His legs were not as responsive as he would have liked, but the firm grip on his shoulder compelled him on, guiding him directly into the line of fire. His form drifted from out of the quiet rabble, the assorted 'guests' parting like biblical waves. Evander fought to keep his head straight, his chin up, to compel his limbs to stop shaking, to look straight ahead, to march bravely into his inevitable doom.

 _Greet Death like an old friend, not an enemy at the gate. For Death was who he was standing in front of now, as certain as the sun rose in the East._

He felt exposed. Not laid bare like he had uttered a faux pas at a formal dinner, the vulnerability was more literal, like being naked in a snow drift, or drowning in the sea with no land on the horizon. Evander was standing alone, observed but not seen in the chilling hush of the dim room. The equidistantly cloaked Death Eaters looked on like muted centuries, their gaze held no comfort. Evander watched from the corner of his eye as his Father dropped his head to kiss his lips against his Master's ring before he swept smoothly back into his place without a backwards glance.

 _Betrayal of the Father, wasn't it always in their set? How could they expect the next generation to grow and prosper if they would happily crush their bones under their feet for the advantages it would give them?_

Reticent as he may have been he knew his part, knew it better than anyone else in the room he suspected. Evander dropped to his knees in front of the man they called 'Lord' and awaited his poisoned fate. The irony was he felt more comfortable like this, while he could stare blankly at the cracked stone floor. He hadn't been doing the best job of maintaining his facade while he had been standing, he knew that.

 _What did it matter what his face reflected? He would soon be given a mask, one that would hide and strip him of his identity all at once. What did it matter who he was anymore? Soon he would be no more than a branded puppet._

Voldemort circled him like the predator he was, sizing him up and no doubt finding him lacking, Evander never took his eyes off the floor. Only when he registered the feeling of cold air did he realise one of his sleeves had disappeared, not slashed or ripped, wholly gone. A mere second later and a wand pushed against the inside of his forearm, he looked at the thin white yew tip as it shoved, depressing into the pale skin there. He knew enough of the magic involved to know that the force exercised was completely unnecessary. The sign of things to come.

 _I unwillingly offer my flesh on this dusty alter, I once again kneel at the feet of a man who I hold no sympathies with, I do not buy into the dreams that you peddle. Your constructed vision of a future utopia is just that, construction, not as real as I am, not as real as the flesh I must offer to be taken there, a land I don't believe in._

As Voldemort began a muttered a curse over his arm, his limb held aloft at an awkward angle, Evander waited, it wasn't for long. After the final word was pronounced all he knew of the world was pain. It began in his arm and shot around his body so quickly it no longer had a beginning or end, his muscles convulsed, his blood boiled, his flesh felt as if it were trying to detach itself. He was screaming before he realised it, powerless to stop his gut-wrenching cries. At some point he fell to the floor, lying on his back, he could register no other feeling than agony, the immeasurable, never ending torment. He tried to quote poetry to himself, a distraction technique of old, but no tragically soothing verses lamenting lost love or the divinity of a first kiss would come.

 _Nothing would come. I am but a void, a vacuum in the air, an empty hole in space and time, non-existence was somehow comforting._

When he was no longer conscious of the time that had elapsed the pain dulled, not stopped, it didn't feel like it would ever stop. Evander's throat was hoarse, raw and beyond the point of scratching. His skin was slick with sweat and his vision blurred and erratic.

"Rise Avery"

He heard the detached, crisp voice, knew it for the command it was. His mind forced his unwilling body to comply. Somehow he made it to his feet, wobbly as a newborn foal but upright, he could hope for no more.

"Thank you… _my Lord_ " he whispered, his strained voice not allowing for a louder response.

He wiped away the blood that had surged past his cracked lips as he spoke, and with the grace drilled into him since before he could even have been considered a child he dropped his upper body into a swooping mockery of a bow, and kissed the ring proffered to him. As he rose he spied the smudges he had left on the blackened stone and pushed down the urge to apologise; his mind whispered that the Lord, no, _his_ Lord would be pleased with such a grim adornment.

"Your dedication will be rewarded… join your brothers."

Evander dragged himself to his _place_ in the circle, next to his Father, _or was he now his brother too?_ He focused on keeping himself upright as the reports began around him, focused on anything other than the fatigue in his limbs and the tightness of his chest. He kept his eyes firmly ahead to avoid looking directly at his Father; he had no desire to look upon the man yet.

 _You to whom I have given everything, you who have taken greedily and always demanded more. You who have a apologised for my failings and handed me over as a lacklustre gift. You have done the last of your taking old man, for there is nothing left that I can give._

* * *

Later when Evander was lying in his own bed he tried even more desperately to control the tremors that pulsed through his skin, they surged with an irregular beat that seemed to begin as deep as bone, rippling upwards and leaving shivers and gooseflesh in their wake.

He knew it was already too late for Thorfinn not to be worried, but he didn't want to add to it. He could see the cogs in his friend's mind turning; he had never been one for subtlety, his Gryffindor ally. Rowle was openly wondering how much he would have to protect him? His learned, poetic friend, Evander. How often would he have to stand in the way and prevent an enviable death?

Little did he know Evander was considering the same in reverse. Thorfinn was _far_ from a good person, but he was the only friend he had, in his friend he had found a kind of blanket acceptance that he had never experienced before. More than that he found someone that was willing and able to strip apart his personality, dismantling the origin of his _self_ into a series of related facets and find the bits that were complimentary to his own, theirs was a relationship of convenience that became a genuine friendship.

It was more than he had ever had from anyone and no matter how many times he would have found himself prone on sweat soaked bed sheets he would get his impulsive, stubborn friend through this.

* * *

It was late when Thorfinn left his room, no doubt to try and grab some sleep before be made it home to his family. Evander desperately wanted to give into slumber and let it's balmy grip settle onto his worn frame, but he had one last ordeal remaining of the day.

He reached for his wand; that had been casually left at his bedside, and summoned all of the energy he could to cast a few weak cleansing spells. Evander sighed as the sweat and blood swept away from his skin and bedding and let himself sag again, the minor action had stripped away most of what he had left but it was worth it, he would sit no more in humiliation today.

He was done with subjugation. Ironic, he supposed, as his life of kneeling had only really just begun.

Right on cue the door to his room opened a fraction and a moment later his Father's broad form filled the doorway.

"You are awake," he said, his tone one of mild surprise as he moved to his bedside.

"As you see" Evander replied blandly, refusing to turn his head.

"I expected the events of the day to have depleted you thoroughly."

"As you see Father, I have failed in your expectations once again" he replied dryly.

"None of that Evander, you have brought me great pride today, there were times when I thought you would never be able…"

"Well, I have now so let that be an end to it" he interrupted.

He was sure he had never spoken to the man thus, Eoghan Avery was a proud man. At one time Evander may have considered him _harsh but fair_ , his childlike understanding leading him to the conclusion that his Father wanted the best for him. It had been a long time since he had held onto such reflections. All of his ideals about his _perfect_ Father had long exploded into less than specks, flecks so small they did not even crunch under his feet as he walked around the Manor, their home that housed so many lies.

He saw the firm set of his Father's jaw and knew he was preparing to chastise him for his outburst, but Evander was growing weary now so he reached within himself and pulled out his trump card, tarnished and illicit as it was.

"Please don't let me keep you Father, I'm sure you have _other places_ to be tonight," he said, turning his head to look at him for the first time since he had gripped his shoulder earlier that evening.

"What?" His Father asked, his voice quiet, he saw the flash cross his eyes, and he knew he had already won, _such a strange sensation, to win._ It felt so very much like losing Evander wondered why people were so fixed on it.

Evander gave his most blank expression

"I'm sure _Mother_ is waiting,"

Evander experienced for the first time in his life a pregnant pause tinged with fear that was almost sensory in its depth and he wasn't the one twitching under its weight. His Father shifted under his gaze for a moment before he made his excuses and left.

Evander watched the door for a moment before he turned over, turning his back on the entrance.

Turning his back on his Father.


	13. The Prince's Tale (Regulus' Story)

_A/N Hello... we are entering the final furlong for this story, the below is the final chapter of the Hog's Head Trilogy and we are starting to wrap things up._

 _ENORMOUS thanks to the amazing Kreeblim Sabs who despite being impossibly sick over the last couple of weeks Alpha'd this chapter as soon as she was better._

* * *

Chapter 12: The Prince's Tale (Regulus' Story)

The Hogs Head

* * *

Regulus Arcturus Black stood at the bar of the Hog's Head and attempted to maintain his affected, aloof demeanour while being stared down by the proprietor, Aberforth Dumbledore. It put him in mind of his time spent before the Headmaster, routinely being asked if there was _anything he could do to help_ , Regulus valiantly kept the sneer of his face from the memory, but the wizard in front of him was a different beast altogether. It wasn't as if he cared they were consuming fire whisky underage, even if it was on his premises, no, Regulus was confident that the distaste positively rolling off the man was related, not to his age, but to some of his… _affiliations_.

Drink order _eventually_ taken Regulus got lost in thought as he leant against the grubby surface of the bars well-worn countertop. Much as the din of the pub may have attacked from all sides, the growing noise of revelry and cheer did nothing to prevent the constant stream of images running through his mind. A macabre loop of fractured yells, icy glances and the acrid smell of burning flesh. Unconsciously he dropped his eyes to his forearm, visualising the pale limb that rested under his crisp white shirt. _How long would it remain that way?_ Clocking the unnecessary dramatics of his thoughts he shook himself _,_ it was pointless considering the _when_ , it was inevitable, that was all he had to think about.

Once again he was left in a situation where he had no choices, choices it seemed, were for the people around him, he had no control. His options, limited as they would always have been, were honed for him by his parents, and they were meticulous and unwavering. _They couldn't afford another mistake, after all,_ he thought bitterly. The rope he had walked for most of his life had gotten considerably thinner the day Sirius was blasted off the tapestry.

Regulus almost laughed at himself, it wouldn't do to be so maudlin, they already had Severus at the table and he would no doubt be on top form tonight, with more reason than usual as the case was. As he looked up to take the proffered dirty cups he fought against his inner desire to grimace until he caught the eye of a charming witch over the other end of the bar. She toyed with the ends of her lush red hair eyeing him with barely concealed hunger, he smirked at her, his easy grin, crooked on one side. She was pretty enough, as distractions go, even if her moves seemed unthinkable rehearsed. _Not tonight love_.

Regulus had felt eyes on him almost from the moment he entered the room, it was nothing unusual; he tended to get attention for his looks wherever he went, both the good and the bad kind. The casual glances he mostly ignored, though he knew at least one of the observers was a lot less cursory than most, and the knowledge made his heart heavy. With his awareness heightened by the close surveillance he knew he was under he gave the girl a subtle shake of his head, it was the least he could do to put off other enquiring eyes; he wouldn't hurt his friend by _entertaining_ in his line of sight.

That's what he was, _his friend_ , though that was far from the title the other boy craved, it was all he could give him, for the present. Not that he didn't love Barty, he did, after a fashion. He would just never be able to adequately express to him the depth of his feeling, not without Barty getting the wrong idea. Crouch was not the best at understanding the greys of human emotion; the whole world was black and white to him if you _loved_ someone you should be with them, _him_. But Regulus' world was far more complicated than that, love, was far more twisted in reality than his friend's comprehension allowed for. Love had merged with duty and obedience in Regulus' mind, the word summoned the images, shackles of expectation.

Barty was volatile, dependent and so tragically beautiful it sometimes felt like it hurt to look at him. He was as bruised mentally, maybe even more so than the rest of them but he didn't hide it as well. His friend was so desperate to be loved back that it would have been easy for Regulus just to fall into a relationship with him, but that would have been the worst ending possible. Barty didn't know himself yet, not like Regulus knew him, Crouch thought he wanted requited love, but he didn't, he wanted, no he craved devotion. Total, all-consuming ardour that existed only for your other half, Regulus couldn't give him that.

He had his doubts as to whether two such people, brought together at any time could be right, let alone when they were expected to fight in a war, side by side. Neither had the best start in life, neither had a role model for what love and affection _should be_. Regulus had always hoped that whoever it was that came into his life would be happy to be a teacher in such areas. In any case, his heart had not been his own to give for a long time.

* * *

In spite of the way the evening, which had drawn the three friends together, had begun it ended pleasantly enough. It didn't take long for them to fall into their usual groove of conversation, despite how clearly they had all been affected by events. As the hour drew later, Barty became more maudlin, the reality of heading home to an unhappy house weighing heavily on his shoulders, a burden that himself and Severus could well understand. With the put upon cheer of the season the youngest amongst them left, unaware of the eyes of his friends that followed him out of the door.

Regulus' attention turned to Severus, who made a show of sagging in apparent relief to be out of their mutual friend's exuberant company. Regulus was far from fooled; he knew how similar the boys were. Severus despite wrestling with many of the same issues as Barty did wore his inferiority complex entirely differently. He drank, sometimes to excess, but Regulus wasn't sure he had ever seen him drunk, he was too controlled for that. Barty needed to let go to achieve peace, Severus needed reign himself in. He had never said anything to him, about his behaviour, about his fears that if he continued to bottle everything up, he was likely to have a complete nervous breakdown. He never would; Severus was his truest friend in the whole world, and though he sneered at him, mocked him for his wealth and privilege he had stood by him, even when he defended the brother that Severus could not stand.

The conversation lagged a little once Barty had gone, not for any lack of familiarity between those that were left, more that they were both lost in their own thoughts, neither felt the need to keep up the pretence of conversation unless they had something to say. Though there was one topic that the now vacant seat at the table pressed into their minds. Regulus knew it might be the only time for a while that himself and Severus were alone, he had been fighting against bringing it up for a while, rationalising that the evening had been horrendous enough, as it turned out Severus raised it first.

"He won't wait much longer," he said dryly, looking over at the drunks now crashing about the place with a withering disdain.

"I know…" Regulus replied, surreptitiously checking no one was overly close to their table, "are you…"

"Prepared?" Severus sneered "no I don't suppose I am, though I'm not sure there is a way we could ever be."

Regulus swilled around the remaining drink in his glass, steadfastly not meeting his friends assessing gaze. Controlled Severus may have been, but even around the limited few that he knew well he could not have been considered patient.

"Ask" he pressed eventually and Regulus sighed in resignation.

"Barty," he said finally after a moment's pause, they had all come too far together for him to need to say more.

Severus nodded "I'll help keep him in line. Though he won't thank us for it."

"I don't care about him thanking us for it" Regulus asserted firmly causing the dark haired man's eyebrows to shoot up, "I just want him not to end up killed by _friendly fire._ " He had thought about the eventuality often; Crouch was not well liked in their year, and he had a tendency to rub people up the wrong way, people that annoyed those already marked had a tendency to wind up dead, whether they were in support of the cause or not. Silence fell again for moment, but it was nowhere near as contented as before

"What about if he asks us to help with… _his Father_?" Regulus asked quietly, his eyes darting around the room.

Severus stared back at him blankly "do you really think we won't already be carrying around much worse on our consciousness by the time he earns permission for that?"

Regulus didn't reply; one wasn't needed. He had been trying not to think about that. In a way it frightened him that he would have little hesitation to kill Barty's father, he had seen the marks on his back numerous times, and with each glimpse Barty Crouch Sr unknowing dulled the blade he would use to gut him. After a little more small talk Severus stood to get another drink Regulus declined, though his glass was empty.

"Saving you coherence for your paramour?" his friend challenged, and the surprise of his accurate assessment did not leave him time to control the faint blush that highlighted his cheeks.

He felt a little uncomfortable at how much Severus knew, and he didn't know much. His friend had guessed that someone had been on his mind, though thankfully had up to now, kept his suspicions to himself and any mention at all had been a bare minimum. Though Severus wasn't the teasing kind, Regulus supposed the lack of comment was mostly out of respect for Barty. Severus may have moaned about him something chronic but he cared for the younger boy more than he would ever let on, and he was no stranger to unreturned feelings himself.

* * *

"Well isn't this cosy?"

The words, slurred though they were, had a not so hidden vein of ice wrapped within that cut into Regulus's core. He turned to watch his brother, his big brother, his one-time protector, as he stumbled through the snow next to his _friends_ , his _support system_ , the people that he had abandoned him for.

He stood rigid as Sirius lurched over, his gate more than unsteady before he stopped in front of him. He seemed momentarily confused in his drunken state at having to look up at his sibling and Regulus's face broke into a sneer, _is it that long since you stood this close, brother?_ he thought bitterly.

"Snivellus and _golden boy_ out for a nice _holiday_ drink… do tell mother Merry Christmas won't you Reggie" he laughed before reaching up and slapping him on the cheek, once, twice. Regulus bit down on the inside of his mouth, hard. He didn't need this, _not tonight._ Not from his escape artist brother who had no conception of who he was, let alone any sympathy for the life that he had left him in.

The smell of the alcohol on Sirius's breath was stifling, and despite everything, Regulus felt a pang of worry for the boy in front of him or _man_ he supposed he should say now. Regulus was reluctant to think of him as such, while Sirius was still a boy he could still claim some association with him, he would never know _Sirius Black_ as a man. Only their names would link them in adulthood.

Lupin appeared before the atmosphere could descend any further and dragged the older Black away. Himself and Severus stood there in a private moment of silence both watching people leave that they no longer had the right to call back. Sev's face was even paler than usual and when he turned back to his friend's gaze was fixed stoically on the retreating mane of flowing red hair.

"She's no good for you" he whispered firmly, he didn't need to say anything else; this argument was one of old between them. Severus snorted and uncharacteristically fidgeted, toeing his boot in the ground, but he didn't respond. They remained there a moment before he seemed to gather himself and then, barely sparing him a nod he apparated away.

* * *

Regulus had apparated soon after Severus had, seeing no point in expending the remainder his dwindling cheer by standing out on his own in the snow. When the twisting sensation in his gut cleared, he looked up at the secluded house, a shack by most pureblood standards but he liked it. The house was made of dark stone, austere from the outside but warm, comforting from within, fashioned like an old hunting lodge the small dwelling was buried deep in the woods and shielded almost entirely by purposely planted trees.

Needy to be inside and out of the cold, out of his head Regulus moved to the large door taking his weather-beaten key and adding his magic into the lock to drop the wards at the same time as the locks were released. The soft glowing light of candles greeted him, and he breathed easy to know they were already here, his nerves couldn't have stood anymore waiting. He followed the twinkling lights into the main reception room they favoured, to find them there burning the remainder of the candles and he slipped off his outer robes adjusting to the warmth of the chamber and the anticipation of what was to come.

"I wasn't certain you would be able to get away," he said, verbalising the anxiety that hid been eating at him for the last hour or so.

They turned to face him, but whatever soothing words were planned died on their lips as they regarded him. "You're shaking" they put the match down and stepped across the room to stand in front of him "I didn't think it would affect you so much, had I known..."

"You could be here for me, not tonight of all nights" Regulus soothed, kind as the thought was it was an impossible one.

"I know but I… I would have tried."

"It's not that… Well, it is but not entirely" Regulus tried to explain, not certain why the events of Hogsmeade should affect him more deeply than what had gone before.

"What is it then?" soft words asked as a firm hand swept across his cheek, and he nuzzled into the touch.

"I saw my brother tonight" he explained quickly, relieved beyond measure when understanding crept into the face now inches from his, he had no energy left to tell.

"What do you need?"

"You."


	14. The Knight's Tale (Louis' Story)

Chapter 13: The Knight's Tale (Louis' Story)

The Club

* * *

When Louis left the meeting following in Walden MacNair's spirited wake, he was in no doubt of where they were going, unfortunately. For a wizard that was so driven to assess others, to find their pressure points so he could push them later, Walden's actions could be remarkably transparent at times. Typically when excitement won out over stealth, the thought alone was enough to send a shiver down Louis' spine. He supposed predators didn't usually worry about being discovered, at least not in MacNair's case anyway.

When the blurred vision brought on by apparition cleared Louis looked out at the grey entrance to Knockturn Alley. The dirty street was almost entirely silent, in stark contrast to its neighbouring counterpart. The revelry of the holiday season in Diagon Alley could be heard clearly, even at this distance.

Louis remembered when he had come here the first time, as a young boy, how he had been captivated by the meandering lane where the dark brick buildings seemed almost to climb from their foundations as if slanting their very walls to touch the people skulking beneath the gothic street lamps. How he had angered his father by pausing every few paces to stop and stare at some unbelievable antiquity or horror. He felt so different about it now. That was growing up, wasn't it? Things were never so shiny when you got to see their inner workings; stage shows were never as glamorous when you peeked behind the curtain.

Louis stood back as Walden ran his hand along the weathered panel and sighed inwardly as the familiar door appeared, it seemed they hadn't banned him, not even since the last time. As they made their way into the entrance he made an almost imperceptible nod to the woman behind the desk and let Walden get on with his display, moving to the back of the room where he wouldn't be expected to participate. The older man asked 'who was new', like he always did, and Travers once again wished that the night could play out differently, that he could make a different choice. He couldn't though, or rather wouldn't, his hands were tied. The bonds were of his making, all of them, but they were no less restrictive for that being the case.

He saw the moment the women's resolve crumbled and bit back an irritated snarl. Madam Broody wasn't wholly bad he supposed, despite her occupation. Many a stronger person wouldn't have stood up to Walden at all. In fact, Louis may have even come close to respecting her, if he hadn't harboured a very firm suspicion that what she was most desirous of was not, in fact, securing the safety of her girls, but the continued use of the merchandise, bought and paid for, at her disposal.

She moved behind the desk, her movements slow and considered, picking up a key "room four" she said "please be careful" she implored.

"Aren't I always" Walden sneered.

The Madam opened her mouth to respond, but Louis shook his head a fraction behind his colleague's head, securely out of his line of sight, nothing would be achieved that way. When Walden had gone, barely holding back the skip in his walk, Traver's and the owner shared a long glance before he made his way to the back of the house. He had no desire to be in her presence any longer; he couldn't sympathise with her situation; she let animals like MacNair in and yet had the audacity to look at him as if his moral failings were greater, perhaps they were.

He didn't walk for long, he was in no need of a key from behind the counter, he had his own, stepping into the former room six he closed and locked the door behind him having, as usual, set the alarm on Walden's room, he would know when he left.

Louis sat in his chair and tried to zone out the growing disquiet he felt whenever he was here. He resolutely stared at the wall and didn't face the bed at all, though he knew it would be neatly made, it always was, he was the only one who came here now.

After what felt like hours of torture his wand buzzed, and he waited for a couple of moments before heading to the recently vacated room, Walden never hung around afterwards, and he certainly wouldn't have waited around for him. No doubt anticipating he was busy pursuing his pleasures as he so long ago would have been.

He sucked in a breath at the door frame and opened it up, standing in the entrance to the room and assessing the bloodied mess on the floor. He hoped that the tremors indicated she was still breathing, though he had seen them twitch like that when it was already too late. Walden liked that, he liked a reminder of his torture to linger with them long after he was gone. Shaking himself, he sprung into action and set to work cleaning the girl up as best he could; he had to immobilise her first, she would only thrash and writhe if she was aware of another man touching her so soon. Once he had syphoned what he could of the blood and healed the cuts that were revealed to him he rested her wrung out body on the bed; he assumed they had never made it that far. She looked up at him as her head hit the mattress her eyes cool and distant and he raised his wand.

"Obliviate."

He didn't take it away, the memory of the evening, he had done that the first time and it had driven the poor wretch he had left behind half mad. He had left that girl with perpetual, unexplainable fear, that without context had seemed totally irrational. He had learnt since then. He left the thoughts but dulled them, removed their lucidity and the sharpness of the pain and the fear, made it manageable, bearable. As much as such a thing could ever be. It meant he had to review them himself, the memories, in a way he believed that was part of his punishment, what good was guilt if you didn't know exactly why you carried so much of it?

He didn't wait long after that. Finishing the last of his litany of spells he cleaned himself over and made for the door, he didn't cast a look behind the counter on his exit; he was a long way passed expressing thanks.

* * *

As he walked through the door of his home Louis felt the same anxiety that he always did; he rushed through the halls, an almost exact emulation of the classic returning husband scene, eager to see his loving wife. Though unlike those familiar tableaus, he didn't call out for her, he never did. As he approached the East wing, he pressed against the extensive wards and lowered them, just for a moment, to allow himself passage. Then, finally, assured of the safety to do so he called. "Esme," his voice carried with a desperate twang. He heard a muffled response and moved quickly towards the sound, opening the door to his bedroom and pausing at the sight within.

She smiled up at him, from her position in the comfortable chair, and he returned it warmly, coming towards her now with complete ease, now that he has seen her, now that he knew that she was safe. He ran a calloused finger over her silky cheek, down her long, swan-like neck and along her collarbone until it connected to the soft, dewy skin of the baby at her breast.

His heart constricted, as it alway did, and he ducked down to smell the top of his son's head. Six months he had been in the world and still Louis had not got entirely used to the remarkable sight of him.

"Who was it tonight?" she asked, leaning back and he sucked in a shallow breath. How did she always know?

"You look haunted" she pressed, answering the question he had not vocalised, "Only Walden gives you that look."

"I didn't find out her name" he answered honestly, and he knew to her that sounded cruel, but it made her so sad when she knew them. Not that it happened much anymore, he only ever picked the new ones, and she had been gone for a time. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off "he is especially vicious this evening" he didn't need to say anymore, his meaning would carry all too well.

He ran a hand through her untamed, wild brown curls and once again questioned the logic of what he was doing. He had been uncommonly selfish, even by his standards. That the selfishness came wrapped up in a 'good deed' was hardly any consolation.

He had been a brand new recruit when Walden had taken him there, the first time, and as a young man of almost twenty, the appeal of Madam Brody's establishment had been instantaneous. He had enjoyed many visits before the night it all changed. The night when he saw Walden with this girl, the one that became his girl. He hadn't known what he did to them, true he had never anticipated he was respectful, or even gentle but at that age, he hadn't seen enough of debauchery even to be able to imagine what went on behind the doors MacNair closed.

Louis had made a mistake with the room keys and walked into the one Walden had chosen, room six. That was when he saw her, beautiful, frightened Esme, trampled on the floor, wasted at the other man's feet. She was new, Walden's always were, he would later learn she was French and from what would be considered in their regime a good family. There had been some disagreement, a refusal to marry the preferred suitor then one poor decision after another had left her in her present state, bleeding into the worn carpet beneath Walden's boots.

He had laughed at his pale face and slapped him on the shoulder, told him to 'have at' what was left of her. Instead, Louis had taken her home, taken her with absolutely no real plan, hidden her in the sheltering wing of his otherwise empty manor and promised to keep her safe. After a year she believed him, after two she loved him and after five she consented to marry him.

He had pulled her into his tainted world, and he had kept her hidden, ostensibly to keep her safe from those that would seek to harm her but he was sensible enough to realise it was as much to protect his interests. Hiding her away kept her ignorant of the depths of his depravity the heinous acts that he committed.

As he sat in his chair, in its regular place next to hers, she gently passed his son into his arms, and he ran a single finger over his child's cheek until his little hand came up and grasped it with a strength that was still surprising him.

He wouldn't change anything, couldn't now. Once they had gotten through this damn war he could put in place his plan, once Walden was no longer around, there would be no reason to keep her secret anymore. Then there, in room six, the room where this had all began, he would leave his body, broken, bloodied and twitching as he fought for the last breath of air, and he would keep him there, warded, for safe keeping.


	15. The Heir's Tale (Rodolphus' Story)

_A/N it has been an age since I posted anything but I promise I have been working. This story, bar a few edits is now complete (two chapters left to post)._

 _Big love to Kreeblim Sabs who as helped me push story into the final straight._

* * *

Chapter 14: The Heir's Tale (Rodolphus' Story)

Another Manor

* * *

Rodolphus hadn't bothered to look for his _wife_ at the conclusion of the meeting. Instead, he decided to remove himself from the decaying castle as soon as possible. He tore past the rest of the rabble, not entirely sure what his rush was, after all, he would only be moving from one infested brick shell to another. Though he supposed he had no desire to watch _her_ slink off into the shadows, in the hope of finding their Lord. He avoided the eyes of the others as he shouldered his way through the crowd, he wished to see the pitying eyes of his fellows even less than the ones filled with mirth. They thought they were all _so intelligent, so perceptive,_ laughing at him and his misfortune as if he carried on after _her_ like some love blinded puppy. He wasn't half as dumb to her _activities_ as people assumed.

Bellatrix had always prided herself on being so much smarter than him, from the off she had regarded him with disdain and condescension. Though it rankled, jutted against everything he had ever been taught he allowed her, to some degree, to get on with that assumption. Not only was correcting her a bore he was in no danger of underestimating her as she had him. Bellatrix deeming him somehow _unworthy_ meant she left him alone, her focus on sinking her teeth into more meritorious pray. She could taunt him, torment him, but she wouldn't try to break him, not completely.

Rodolphus walked into the sombre air and swiftly apparated away landing in front of his Manor, once a place that he had happily called home now the very stones of the building appeared to twist like his wife was rotting the very foundations with her burgeoning insanity.

She had seemed so captivating when they had first met, her pale skin and wide smile had held him in place. He was not anxious to marry, but he believed, hoped, from that first time she gazed upon him that he could have developed a fondness for her. Despite his mind screaming that her beauty was of the savage kind, she looked too perfect, too contrived; he hadn't been able to help being drawn in, at least a little. That was until she revealed all of the malice, bitter resentment and outright violence that positively crawled under her porcelain skin.

Once she'd had a keen and bright mind, but even that was diminishing now, the Bella of old would have sensed how little Lord cared for her, Merlin knew everyone else had, and Master or not she wouldn't have stood for it. Rodolphus rationalised that she was already aware. That rather than Riddle's disinterest being an indicator of her growing instability it wasn't, in fact, the cause of it. That she had long ago identified what Riddle felt and in doing so had smashed her heart enough that her mind forced an illusion that would keep her going, one that meant she was losing her fragile grip on reality. If he didn't hate her so much he might have pitied her, sadly all emotions when it came to her had been used up. These days his only life only consisted of two things, two elements whose presence kept him relatively calm, booze and seclusion.

Rodolphus moved through the dark corridors making his way to his chambers; he didn't take in the patterns of the wallpaper or the furniture that appeared any more, the styling of his home made him feel like he might suffocate. It felt like _she_ was building his mausoleum around him and someday she would eventually inform him she was finished before cutting his throat.

He locked the door behind him, warding it shut, not that it made a difference. When he made her his wife the blood wards prevented her from being locked out, but it annoyed her. A minor irritation was all he had left in his gift.

He had hoped at first. Believed that though they would have an arranged alliance, if they worked, together they could piece together something. Construct something meaningful from the fragments of what still felt like a betrayal from their parents, and make it something good. Rodolphus had not expected love, no one in his peer group had, but he had desired contentment.

It wasn't to be.

Raised to be pragmatic Rodolphus had tossed away his notions of marital bliss, and when hope died, he had striven to enjoy the fire instead, despite the inevitable burns. He threw himself into the mind games and gambled as to whether he would come out the other side. But it had worn him down quickly; it had been years since he had engaged with her in any real way.

It still rankled him at times; they could have done this, they could have made it bearable if they had done so together.

He heard Rabastan stomp down the corridor and sighed, knocking back the remainder of the whisky in his glass before facing his little brother who would no doubt be in high dudgeon. He had tried his best to take the place of his father, to offer the advice he would have done, well that what he considered to be worthwhile. A significant portion of the Lestrange family scriptures he had discounted, culled, destined to die along with him.

* * *

It was near midnight when Bella strode into his chamber, smirking at him as she had apparently made light work of his wards. He made no reaction; he had numbed himself with enough whisky to put out a dragon, even the booze was failing him now. Rodolphus had been succumbing to a blissful stupor, one look at his wife had made him feel desperately lucid again. He eyed the bottle disdainfully.

"Good evening Husband, are you quite recovered from you _arduous_ night?" She asked mockingly.

He glared at her. "Go away Bella," he bit out from between clenched teeth.

"No I don't think I will" she taunted, pressing her back against the cold tile of the wall letting her mouth fall into a broad smile as she flung her robe into the room. "Are you done crying Roddy? Is it all too much for you?" She singsonged.

"Shut up" he shouted rubbing his hands aggressively over his face.

He ignored her for the most part, they co-existed in the same house, barely interacting, and Rodolphus found he preferred the deprivation to any form of her company yet there was something she held in her grasp that he wanted and he would endure her if he meant he could get it.

When she had said enough for her to convincingly think she had railed him he stomped over and pinned his arms on either side of her head breathing heavily against her face.

He wanted a child, almost as much, more so even, than he wanted his next breath. No illegitimate heir that would have hassle from his or her peers but a sired child, that meant going via her, as distasteful as the journey was, the result would be worth it.

He frantically pushed up the silk of her skirt, forever mindful that the captivating sensory fabric had been selected with another in mind, as she released the fastening of his trousers, he watched her smile and held in his own smug expression; she had no idea how much he was manipulating her. Rodolphus pulled her roughly up the wall as he thrust into her.

"So pleased you remembered your spine enough to be able to perform Husband mine," she said in her parody of a seductive tone, he had shut his eyes to let his mind wander away from her and covered her mouth with his hand to prevent further speech. " _I hate you_ " he spat venomously, meaning every word.

She laughed and bit savagely into his palm and then threw her head back to shriek with mirth as he jerked his hand away from her. " _You bitch_ " he growled.

His tempo increased, and she snickered at her perception of his fury. She had no idea she didn't have the power to draw such emotion from him anymore, but he needed this, the deception made her play along.

Finally, he managed his release, and he pulled from her as soon as possible. She made a show of wiping the blood, _his blood_ , from her lips and he scowled at her, his expression covering his astute observation, so well occupied in her perceived torture she had forgotten to do the charm, he silently celebrated that it hadn't all been for nothing.

She swept out of the room without a backwards glance, and Rodolphus removed himself to shower, the very perspiration on his skin taunting him for fucking her again.

When he came back into the room, towel around his waist it was blissfully quiet, his eyes darted around and he placed another ineffectual ward on the door before he placed his hand on the wall behind his bed and pressed his magic against it feeling it pop slightly he moved the now loose brick to find a shallow cavity below.

He reached in and took out the only contents, a photograph, and ran a finger along the cheek of the image facing him. Maybe if they got through this, they could disappear? Him, her, his secret, and with a little bit of luck, his child.


	16. The Father's Tale (Eoghan's Story)

_Thank you to Kreeblim Sabs for her enthusiasm for this chapter, this set of characters and helping me piece this together._

 _Fancasts: Eoghan Avery - Lee Pace / Evander Avery - Colin Morgan_

* * *

Chapter 15: The Father's Tale (Eoghan's Story)

The Bedside

* * *

Eoghan Avery stood back and watched as the hulking form of Thorfinn Rowle carried his almost unconscious son up the grand staircase. He supposed some fathers would have insisted on carrying their child themselves, but he didn't. Eoghan's mind wandered as the blonde disappeared, his memory swamped with images of Evander's pained writhing. He had taken the mark better than he could ever have expected. He had been pondering what would happen for weeks, ever since his Lord's request that Evander join their ranks. He had protested at first, as vehemently as he thought possible, he used to be able to protest without a second thought, but this new iteration of Tom was more than just a name change and branching out members. Their new Lord was colder, harder, less willing to accept debate. That had given him pause.

He would never know how many of the motionless in that circle that evening had known what could have happened. Eoghan had been there from the start; he knew the truth. Not all of those selected survived the marking.

Thorfinn turned the corner at the top of the staircase, and Eoghan sighed before making his way to his wife's chamber. Soon after their marriage, he had been overwhelmed to learn that not only would he be blessed with a child but that his first heir would be a son.

Then he had been born.

A pale, sickly little thing he had been, clammy skin and wide-eyed, needy for his mother's attention. That had not changed as he got older when he could walk Evander spent most of his time hanging around his mother's skirts when he wasn't sullen he was absent. Evander became quite, withdrawn, almost detached from the world around him and Eoghan didn't know what to do, how to mould him into what he needed of him. By the time Evander was nine Eoghan knew there would be no more babies, his wife could no longer try, not without endangering herself. It was too late to build his bridges with his son they had nothing in common, no characteristic to recommend themselves to each other. He could not reproach himself for that; Evander had never tried to be the son he wanted.

* * *

He let himself into his wife's room quietly so as not to upset her before they had even begun, she didn't exactly welcome his presence in her chambers. He locked eyes with her in her reflection in her vanity mirror, her delicate face in the very centre of the ornate frame as she brushed her dark hair gently, readying herself for bed. She was a creature of comfort and routine, or at least that is what he had always thought of her; the scene was something he had seen time and time again.

She quirked a single dark brow at him, still in in the mirror and he walked forward to place a kiss on her cheek. She didn't move away from him as he had expected, rather she went one better and let him feel how she went rigid under his lips on her face, under his fingers on her shoulder. He had been certain for years that his wife had found a way to drop her body temperature by several degrees whenever she felt a point needed to be made. Impressive as it may have been it was unnecessary, the coldness shone from her eyes. Theirs had never been a 'hot' marriage anyway, neither of them had desired it. Eoghan had required a good wife, from an excellent family and she had been perfect. She had craved a child, and he had upheld his promise and given her one. She had asked no more of him, only that he kept his... other behaviours, discrete, something he would have done without instruction.

"Are you all done playing soldiers for the night?" She remarked while applying a hand cream from a glass jar on the side; her tone was deceptively airy, and he knew her too well to be put at ease by it.

"Yes," he bit out "we are done."

"Good" she replied before stilling her movements. "You never told me Evander was going to join tonight."

He looked over again, catching her blank look in the mirror, a small amount of shock at her words must have been betrayed on his face as she smirked at him without humour. "You should know by now Eoghan that _nothing_ happens house in this house without my knowledge. When Thorfinn brought home _our son,_ battered and bleeding did you not think I would know?" She questioned, her voice rising dangerously, "did you not think I would have been _expecting_ this?"

He said nothing in response, he expected her to scream, to rant at him to _explain_ himself, but she didn't. Instead, she stood softly from her stool and turned to face him. "You will pay for what you have done tonight."

"Evelyn…" he replied with exasperation.

She tutted at him "this is not _another_ of our arguments about _our child_ Eoghan. This is me doing you the courtesy of letting you know that I will _make you pay_ for involving him in this." And with that, she swept from the room.

Once the door had closed firmly behind her Eoghan slumped down onto the bed. Absently he ran a rough hand over the delicate fabric of the cover, his eyes softening as he traced the ornate pattern. He supposed it was inevitable, his wife had held his son's interests as the only desire of her heart from the moment he had been conceived. But Eoghan had a calling to a greater power before Evander had even been born.

He had pledged his allegiance to Tom Riddle, as was, while they were still in school. Singular, reflective, intellectual he may have been, but the young, burgeoning Dark Lord had power almost flowing from his very fingertips, Eoghan had not hesitated at all when he was called to his side. This was the life his father had groomed him for and unlike his son he believed in upholding the values you were instructed in your infancy.

After a while of silent contemplation, he knew he could put off a visit to Evander no longer. A quick glance at the time showed it to be long after midnight; he was aware that by now Thorfinn would have slunk off to one of the spare rooms he used while he was here, which was often.

He squared his shoulders when he approached and prepared himself for the unfamiliar task of bestowing praise on his heir. He often thought grateful things in his son's direction, mainly when he had managed not to embarrass him but nonetheless, there were some positive interludes in amongst the rest of his thoughts.

He pushed the door open quietly, half hoping Evander was already asleep to find him lying on his bed, his eyes catching the glimmer of light coming through from the windows. "You are awake," he said, his tone one of mild surprise as he moved to his bedside.

"As you see," Evander replied blandly, his face still staring impassively at the ceiling.

"I expected the events of the day to have depleted you thoroughly" he admitted looking over his son with some surprise at finding him in a much better condition than he could have imagined.

"As you see Father, I have failed in your expectations once again" Evander muttered, and Eoghan rolled his eyes if he had spoken to his father in such a tone he would have been flogged to within an inch of his life.

"None of that Evander" he chided "you have brought me great pride today, there were times when I thought you would never be able…"

"Well, I have now so let that be an end to it" Evander interrupted, and he felt a vein jump in his neck. _Insufferable cheek, how dare he speak to him thus?_ Eoghan gathered himself up, whatever he had endured that evening that level of disrespect was not to be born.

"Please don't let me keep you Father, I'm sure you have _other places_ to be tonight," Evander said, turning his head to look at him for the first time since he had gripped his shoulder earlier that evening.

"What?" he asked in response, his voice quiet. His rage quelled immediately as if a bucket of ice water was thrown over a fire. He felt his heartbeat sped and he looked into his son's eyes. He couldn't know? Could he?

"I'm sure mother is waiting," Evander continued, and this time Eoghan started. He knew, it was the only explanation. He allowed the conversation to fall away to nothing as he listened to the rushing of his thoughts, he had to leave; that was the first thing. He would work out what to do with his son later, how much of a threat he was remained undetermined.

When he was out in the corridor, he released the breath he had been holding and slumped against the wall. He knew he should stay, try and patch things up with his family, make it all right again before they sat for meals tomorrow, but he didn't want to.

* * *

Apparating out of his home, leaving the troubles he would have to resolve or shelve later behind he appeared outside his father's old hunting lodge and opened up the large door before busying himself with setting the mood, lighting candles and airing out the rooms.

There was no sign of Regulus; he had appeared as planned but when he checked the time he realised he was still relatively early. He had never anticipated this to be where he would end up. Their liaisons had started innocently enough, seeing each other at the same functions, laughing and drinking together. Regulus had let slip that he was intended for the Dark Lord's employ and Eoghan had offered himself as a guide, to help him when he was marked.

Eoghan had come to like the young, beautiful Regulus Black. It wasn't long before he desired him, and in the way of many of the dalliances that had gone before he glided through the waters of seduction artfully. He could see that the younger man wanted him too, craved an older, wiser voice to guide him through the turbulent emotions he felt. Then the affair had begun, it had been what he wanted, needed. Now though he suspected that dear Reg was becoming fairly attached.

Eoghan wasn't sure if it was wiser to break it off now or wait until he was marked, it would potentially be somewhat useful to have another Death Eater onside, especially after tonight's performance, who knew if he could count on his son.

He heard the wards fall at the door and he settled himself back into his seat, ready to receive his guest, after all, the tension that had built that evening he could do with a release.


	17. The Master's Tale (Tom's Story)

Chapter 16: The Master's Tale (Tom's Story)

Abandoned Castle

* * *

Tom Riddle stepped forward from the spot he had apparated to and looked up at the decaying castle in front of him. He barely moved, but his eyes darted restlessly around the visual spectacle. He could see the corrosion that had begun to eat its way into the crumbling brick; ivy had started to creep through the gaps left by the ravages of time, silently embedding itself undermining the mortar.

This, he thought, with a smile quirking at the corner of his lips, _this would do_.

* * *

A week later he had moved in, the process was not lengthy, he had never had much appetite for 'worldly goods'. For the first time in two years, he was not living off the _charity_ of one of his followers. Not that they would have called it that, now was the time for something a little different. He had decided on his rooms within the castle and transformed them into his centre of operations. It wasn't as opulent as the places he had been recently but he was content. _Home comforts_ , after all, had always meant little to him.

The austere building created a veil of mystery and fear that seemed to permeate from its very foundations; Tom could feel the magic almost rising from the floors. This would be the place to inspire fear into the next generation of recruits, to add credence to the legend of his ascendancy into power.

* * *

In preparing for the meeting he dressed with care, immaculate precision was required to build the image he wanted. It had been a slow transition over the last few years, burning away the remnants of Tom Riddle so the Dark Lord could be born.

Robe in place he languidly drew his wand from its holster and drew an 'S' shape in the sky, the wispy trail left behind thickened and spread before turning into a writhing snake, undulating around a translucent skull. When the image had formed he pushed his magic towards it and watched as the skull opened as if contorted in a silent scream.

It was time.

* * *

As Evander Avery gave his pale arm, Tom forced the end of his wand against his flesh in a jerky move so hard it felt like he may have broken through the surface. He felt the power course through his skin, moving from his pores and soaking into the circle.

 _Another soul bound to me and my cause._

When it was done he sent Avery over to stand in his circle, a little bit of ceremony that he employed during these meetings, it was an easy way to keep the purebloods happy. They corralled easier with the right bit of pomp and circumstance executed in the right way.

Avery was a find. His father had been a recruit from the school room, merciless, self-serving and tied to duty without ever questioning the albatross around his neck. The son was different, he was sharp that boy and had somehow managed, seemingly without design to convince everyone around him that he wasn't a threat. Even Thorfinn, who trailed after him at every turn, appeared to believe that the smaller boy needed protecting. _How wrong they all were_. With the right words in his ear, with the right favours in his gift Evander Avery would be one of his best assets, he was already on his way to half way detached from the world. Tom mused whether the first kill would push him to where he needed him, or whether he would have to gift him his father for that? _Decisions, decisions_.

His eyes flickered to the back of the room weighing and measuring the assembled crowd. _Thorfinn next, I think_. Tom hid away a smirk, picking someone, anyone, over Rabastan was likely to push him one step closer to his unhinged potential. He was aware that the young boy faked a lot of his outbursts but the potential for true madness, useful madness, was right there. There was a difference, in his mind at least, between unbalanced and unstable. His eyes fell to Barty, though that wasn't to say unstable had no uses.

* * *

The meeting was shorter than most; it wasn't prudent to discuss too much in front those who were not fully… _indoctrinated_ after all. The marking had been a message; he had taken one of those from the highest ranks of their world and commanded him to his knees, shown him avoidable, immeasurable pain and all for the honour of doing it again. All of those in the back would be joining soon. It was just a matter of time.

The reports yielded nothing of particular interest. Tom tried to keep his reactions impassive but he was impatient, he needed things to move quicker. But he held his tongue for now, two such _displays_ on one evening might push the balance.

He pondered while the circle continued to speak, he needed new information; the Order counter attacks were creeping up in number. Now he had his house in order, so to speak, he needed to send a message to the other side. The Order may prefer to meet them in skirmishes but his approach was all about the demonstration of the extent of his reach and power, he would attack them in their homes, in their beds.

For reliability, he handed the job over to Dolohov and Yaxley, efficient, unaffected boys who would get it done cleanly. His eyes shot between Bellatrix and the young Felix Mulciber standing at the back of the hall, the time for spectacle would come later, for now, he needed results.

* * *

Tom looked Bellatrix over and moved from his place at the sideboard to throw himself into the nearest chair. Her infatuation could be tiresome, but at points, he also found it diverting, not as much as it had been certainly, but there were still some glimmers of how he had felt before.

When he had met her for the first time he had tested his acquired 'charm' on her; it was the first time he had attempted a non-imperious persuasion since leaving school. The Blacks had been the first on his list, easy bait he had thought. Their values aligned with his cause perfectly and Cygnus needed little persuading, with that name many others would follow, _the ball had begun rolling._

Bella's adoration had been a surprise to him, not that he hadn't had his fair share of simpering women cling to him before but the depth of her devotion was a new and not a truly unwelcome. She was her father's favourite that much was clear, he attended several parties with her on his arm as was introduced to all the right people, the networking portion of his cultivation was made much easier by her there to _grease the wheel_.

On the whole however he found Bella to be a little pedestrian for his tastes, sure she was devoted and bloodthirsty and all of the little things that made her an excellent choice, for a follower. In truth, he was more intrigued by the sisters. Loyal, outspoken Andromeda who defied the world for the Mudblood, ridiculous decision maybe, but she showed a spirit that would have had possibilities. Or precious flower Narcissa that unless he was very much mistaken was holding on to a great deal of power under that serene countenance, then Lucius Malfoy began to court her and just like that she was moved into his sphere of influence in any case.

* * *

Once the door closed shut, Tom leant forward to run a slender, pale finger over the desk in front of him. A languid pass on top of the faded surface was all it took for a break in the varnished wood to appear. Slowly he moved the two pieces aside revealing a board below, thick and carved of the whitest ash he laid the flat panel out in front of him and stared at the assembled faces propped up on its surface.

Fifty faces peered back at him, representatives from all of the great and the not so good. For all this rhetoric about muggles and the Ministry, they had never even suspected that his first target was them, the sacred twenty-eight, and those few families on the peripheries that would be of some use.

His first infiltration had to be them; they had eaten up his power and promises with a hunger that dulled their perceptions. Once he had secured a few of the old guard, the rest came, begging to have his mark cast entrenched into their _worthy_ flesh.

He produced a card from his pocket and looked down at the stoic face of Evander Avery, _and now they were handing their sons over to the cause._

With a wave of his hand that left an ominous dark cloud of magic in its wake a snake, it's deepest black scales shimmering appeared on the front of Evander card, and he placed him on the board with _his brothers_.

Soon, Tom thought to himself idly; he would be ready soon.

* * *

Excerpt from _Horcrux Hunting and The Fall of The Dark Lord_ **Professor H. J. Granger** [2003].

As the first war escalated, the self-styled Dark Lord dropped his recruitment standards to allow younger and younger followers to be marked. These marking _ceremonies_ were mostly competed in private though there is evidence to suggest that some were conducted in front of the full inner circle. Scholars have advocated conflicting and various reasons as to why this may have been the case.

Little concrete detail is known about these meetings, the Death Eaters operated primarily as a secret society and predominantly outside of the law. What is known of the Death Eaters themselves amasses even less. Many have now been reduced to nothing more than frightening stories people tell their children. Of their thoughts and feelings during this time we will never be certain, little is known outside of those that interacted with them at school of their individual personalities. Instead, we are left with a series of rough hue sketch analyses comprised of speculations of motivations based on their known actions during the war.

The central question remains. What possesses a (typically) young man, with wealth, influence and prospects to effectively sign their lives over to such a man? With the wizarding world efficiently laid at their feet, what could they have hoped Riddle could give them that they had not already had within their entitled grasp?

Sadly, at this juncture, it looks likely that we may never know, and thus a generation of our world is relegated to the status of a forgotten people. We may never now know what happened to those marked figures, after the meeting.

* * *

 _A/N And we are done, thank you so much for following along and offering feedback with this odd little story. HUGE thanks to Kreeblim Sabs who was a truly outstanding alpha reader along this journey, providing not just assistance with the words themselves but also motivation to continue._


End file.
